


Heirs and Graces

by Beth51276, Caedmon, RishiDiams



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Older Man/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, mentions of past Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 109,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth51276/pseuds/Beth51276, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RishiDiams/pseuds/RishiDiams
Summary: Chris Foreman leads a bit of a double life. In London, he is a graduate student, professor, and popular radio DJ. But at home, in Gallifrey, he is Prince Regent Christoph - and he's expected to marry in less than two years. He's running away from his royal responsibilities...when he bumps into Rose Tyler.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading!
> 
> This fic has been a collaborative effort between four authors: Beth51276, Caedmon, pls210, and RishiDiams. All four of us have contributed ideas, scenes, and dialogue, and it was self-beta’d by us, as well. Together, we form a collective we like to call “Leather Fetish” - four Ninth Doctor fangirls writing about our favorite character.
> 
> This is an AU a couple times over - human, royalty, and university. We like to think it’s a very unique story, and we hope you’ll like it. 
> 
> Between the four of us, we own some pretty cool things. Beth51276 has her very own silver fox, Caedmon has a minivan with magic doors, pls210 has too many pairs of shoes, and RishiDiams has a brand new house.
> 
> Despite the fact that we all own some cool things, none of us own Doctor Who, the characters, or any of the recognizable dialogue you may see in this fic. All of that goes to the BBC. We do, however, own the mistakes. 
> 
> Your comments and kudos mean the world to us. Thank you so much for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have done a lot of different things in our lives, but none of us went to university in England. And internet research can only take us so far. That said, if there are any mistakes with regard to the academic portion of this story, the classes or grades, please do not hesitate to mention it and we'll be glad to make the necessary changes.

Chapter 1  
_August 17, 2015_

It was late, though the sun still hung bright in the sky. Chris stood at the window, his blue eyes reflected in the glass as he stared at the horizon. His plane would be leaving soon, and his suitcase lay half-empty, filled with only jumpers and jeans. London would already be dark, but the night sky outside the palace held no shadows. Sunrises and sunsets passed each other only fleetingly during Gallifreyan summers, saving their conversations for the deep darkness of winter. 

There was a soft knock on the outer door to his rooms followed by a click of it opening. Jack, no doubt, letting himself in. Chris moved back to his open suitcase, unsurprised to find his oldest and closest friend in the doorway watching him. 

“You could help, you know.” He folded the last of his cashmere jumpers that he knew would be handy in the London damp. 

“No need. I think you have this whole ‘packing up and leaving’ scene down pat.” 

Chris sighed; Jack never let him leave the palace quietly. He waited for the next hit; they always came in pairs. 

"The only reason the Duke and the Advisory Council agreed to this second doctorate of yours in the first place --” 

Chris snorted. “Like I need their approval.” 

Jack went on, undaunted. “...is because you assured them you'd be finished by now. You’re saying you may need _another_ year after this one? Jesus,” Chris raised his eyebrow, and Jack lowered his voice to something more respectful of his prince. “It’s already been _three_ , Highness!” 

Chris started tossing clothes into his suitcase more haphazardly than he liked while grumbling some excuse about scheduling and not having enough time for his thesis. It was all the truth, technically.

"You do realize this new timetable means you're going to be forty before you graduate, right? You know what happens if you’re not married by then."

“Yes, Jack. My ‘beloved’ uncle and his little group of Advisory Council puppets get to choose my bride for me.”

“And we all know who --”

Chris jammed socks into the corners of the suitcase and slammed the lid shut. “Thank you for the recap, but I know. I am the one who has been living with this hanging over his head my whole life, not you, remember?”

“Your Highness, all I’m saying is maybe you should consider not going back to London right now. Take some time this year to visit the candidates on the Advisory Council’s list; you might decide you like one of them. You can always finish your degree later.”

Chris made a derisive noise. “I have already looked at every girl on that list.”

“I don’t know about you, Highness, but I don’t think glancing over a stack of headshots and bios is the best way to choose a wife.” 

“Jack, no one else is around, you can do away with all of this ‘Highness’ business. Besides, do you honestly think when I want something done around here, you are the only person I turn to?”

Jack snorted. “Of course I do.” 

“Well, you are not. You are the Captain of the Guard, not my mother,” Chris muttered and picked up the suitcase. “And you are not the only one I trust. I had Jake do some research, and I think I will find my own bride.”

“Come on, he can’t have found something wrong with _all_ of them.” Jack sighed when Chris ignored him. "Chris, the women being presented to you are --"

"They're vapid," he cut him off. "And vain and empty-headed. I do not want to spend my life with someone like that. If that is the best that royal lineage can offer, then I worry for its future."

“Fine, they aren’t your type -- whatever that is -- but it isn’t just the marriage thing concerning me.” Chris paused by the door. “Lately, the Duke has been associating with some...how do the Brits say it? Arseholes?” 

Chris scoffed. “Not surprising, like attracts like.” 

“No, seriously, Christoph, I’m worried.” 

Chris nodded, and the two men stood silently as a terse beat passed. “Jack, I appreciate your concern, on both the domestic and romantic front, but I am not a king, not even a decent prince. The country would be better off the longer I stay away.” 

“The country would be better off, Your Highness, or _you_ would? Be sure you know the difference.” 

Jack brushed by him and out the door. 

Chris followed him down the hallway for a moment before ducking into the Portrait Gallery. He bypassed the wall of formal portraits of past Gallifreyan Queens and their consorts, heading for the final painting on the right, the only one of the Foreman Royal Family in existence. Chris always made a point to visit before leaving, his own way of paying his respects. He often wondered to what: his father, mother, or what-could-have-been? 

Painted only months before his father’s death, the skilled artist had captured Queen Verity’s bubbling _joy_ \-- in eight-year-old son Christoph, her husband, her slightly protruding belly, or maybe all three. Thomas Foreman, an Englishman and commoner by birth, was painted looking down at his wife and son with an expression of wonder, as if unsure that this was his family, or possibly, that he was worthy of it. The Queen had refused to hang the art after losing both her husband and her unborn daughter in quick succession; in fact, Chris had seen it for the first time when the palace curator brought it to his attention shortly after his mother’s death. Since then, the wall where it hung had become his most favorite spot in the palace.

Five years after her death, his mother still ranked as the most popular person in Gallifrey. Even during the last two years of her life, when leadership decisions had been made primarily by her brother Harold Saxon, the Duke of Oakdown, and the Council, Gallifreyans had adored their Queen. Chris could never hope to rouse that type of dedication. His mother had been exceptional, and there wasn’t a single day that went by where he didn’t miss her. It was more than a son wanting his mother; it was a prince floundering without his Queen to guide him; it was a man being pressured into marrying a woman he despised because the family’s antiquated letters patent demanded a female heir. Because, for the first time in Gallifrey’s history, the Queen had died, leaving the country without one.

So, since he couldn’t be crowned King, he became Prince Regent Christoph, holding the throne in trust for his future daughter. To that end, the Advisory Council had given him until his 40th birthday to choose a bride or one would be chosen for him. And at the top of their list was Reinette Poisson, a second cousin and next in line to the throne if Chris failed to marry and produce a daughter of his own. Uncle Harold had taken Reinette under his wing after her parents had died when she was only a child. He’d been throwing her at Chris as a potential bride almost as long, despite Chris having absolutely no interest in her then, and even less now.

No matter how many degrees he collected, he’d never have his mother or father’s wisdom. That was lost to him forever. All that remained was a fierce desire to do them proud and protect the country and their legacy.

Oh, and _not_ marry Reinette Poisson.

But would they blame them if he held off shouldering the burden as long as possible? 

He touched the portrait’s gilded frame and left the Gallery, two-stepping down the grand stairway, unsurprised to find the staff lined up to bid him farewell. He hated goodbyes. His father’s valet, Wilfred, met him at the foot of the winding staircase. 

“You should be off-duty at this hour, Wilf.” 

In a wrinkled uniform that he insisted on wearing long after the rest of the household staff had given them up, Wilfred Mott appeared more gnomish than queen’s man. He leveled his watery blue eyes on Chris, transforming him to an unruly teenager caught sneaking out of the palace. Shame at trying to forgo the goodbyes colored the back of Chris’ ears. 

“Had to see you off, Your Highness. It’s tradition.”

The two men shook hands warmly, and Chris walked the line, stopping to say a few words to some of the servants while nodding a silent farewell to others. Most of the household staff had been with the Royal Family for years, and Chris marveled at the generations of commitment, wondering -- not for the first time -- if it wasn’t misplaced in him. 

One of the footmen tried to take his bag, but Chris waved him off. He took one more look at the upper staircase leading to the private residence -- his mother and father’s rooms -- and turned to leave. 

“Back to school already, Christoph, my boy?” 

Grinding his teeth, Chris stopped. He was nobody’s ‘boy’.

“Yes. The flight leaves in an hour,” he told his uncle with years of practiced patience.

Uncle Harold stood in the doorway of the Royal Study -- Chris’ mother’s study -- an oily smile plastered on his face. In an attempt to hide his greying hair, his uncle had started having it dyed, choosing an unflattering blonde instead of his natural dark brown. With his pale complexion and black clothing, he appeared more Disney villain than the head of the Royal Council currently tasked with advising Chris through his regency. 

“Plenty of time for a drink and a private word before you have to head to the airport, then. Wilfred, take his Highness’ bags to the car and wait with them.” 

Chris grimaced when Wilfred tugged lightly on the handle. He released it, stuffing his hands in his pockets and curling them into fists as he watched the older man half-drag the bag across the marble floor. Chris took a deep breath as they moved in lockstep towards the library, and clamped a large hand on his uncle’s shoulder.

“In the future, Uncle, there’s no need to make Wilfred drag my bag so you can make a show of ordering around my valet.”

“He’s a _servant_ ,” sneered Saxon. “You continue to make the error of sentimentality. Treating him as family simply because of his length of service.”

Chris seethed at his uncle’s ability to ruin his last moments at home. “Wilfred has dedicated his life to serving the Foreman family, not to take useless orders from you. Now, I believe you wished to speak to me, _Uncle_.” Chris brushed by him and stepped into the dimly lit study. 

“Hello, Christoph.” 

The carefully cultured voice made him stop.

“What are you doing here, Reinette?”

She stepped out from where the door had hidden her from view from the hall. The lights meant to accent the priceless vase on the pedestal behind her haloed the platinum blonde perfectly -- a tactical placement on her part, no doubt. Not a single hair was out of place, her silver silk and lace dress fit like a glove. Chris couldn’t remember a time when Reinette looked anything but perfect, just one of many things that rankled him about her. She and his uncle were all about the show, putting up an illusion, usually at the expense of someone or something else. 

“Be nice, Christoph. Reinette just wanted to say goodbye. We both did,” Saxon cautioned as Reinette stepped out of the light, passing close enough to Chris for her skirts to brush against his legs and her cloying perfume to make his stomach turn. She looked up at him through her eyelashes as she settled on the settee, to see if he followed the motion. “Your visits home are getting so infrequent. We were hoping you would reconsider this latest, um, academic venture. Have a seat, son.”

Chris bristled at his uncle’s condescension. One part of him longed to strike out; remind Saxon that he only served as the Counsellor of State at Chris’ pleasure. Remind him that this was his mother’s office -- the former _Queen_. But then the fire drained out of him, and he sat down, as far from Reinette as the small velvet settee allowed. She shifted closer, resting her hand on his arm and giving him a tight-lipped smile. Barely resisting the urge to shake her hand off, he turned back to his uncle. 

“I am afraid that I cannot. It is in the best interests of Gallifrey for its leaders to be as informed and educated as possible. I got my history and politics doctorate for Gallifrey. A physics degree is for me, and I believe, Uncle, that you know me well enough to know that I refuse to abandon something I’ve committed to.”

The Duke smirked, and Chris knew that he’d hit his intended mark. 

“Well, by all means, don’t let us stop you from being an ambassador for our great nation... while bettering yourself, of course. But it is my hope - _our_ hope,” his uncle added, nodding at Reinette. “And the hope of every Gallifreyan - that you will remember your duties at home and return to them. Soon.” 

“I will finish my thesis and return to Gallifrey. I have not forgotten my duties.”

“Even the one you’re shirking? To take a wife? _That_ is your primary responsibility: to provide an heir and further the bloodline.” His uncle walked to the fully-stocked bar and poured two drinks, then chuckled humorlessly. “You’re not getting any younger, Christoph. The clock is ticking. I know it seems an archaic tradition, especially in 2015. But it _is_ tradition, son. That’s what people need in this age of madness. They need to know that some things do not change. That some things, some closely-held traditions, remain constant and stand the test of time.” He handed Chris a glass, raising an eyebrow when he barely had it in his hand before passing it to Reinette instead. Taking a sip of the whiskey, Saxon continued. “Let me be blunt, Christoph. Why will you not simply marry Reinette? Your mother and I had always hoped --”

“With all due respect to you and our cousin,” Chris said with barely held resolve, “I believe that this has been _your_ wish, Uncle. Not my mother’s, and not mine. And, as I said before, my duties are well-known to me.”

Saxon shot a sad smile in Reinette’s direction before he turned back to Chris. “I hope so. For Gallifrey’s sake, of course.”

Just as his uncle sat down, Chris got to his feet. “I wish you well in my absence, Uncle. And you, Reinette. I shall be in contact, both directly and through Jack.”

“Safe travels, then, my boy.”

He ground his teeth. “Thank you.”

Chris covered the Great Hall in three strides, Jack hurrying behind him after having manifested from somewhere. 

“What’d he want?” Jack whispered. 

“The usual.” He reached the car and sent Wilfred back inside with a squeeze of his shoulder. “You are right, Jack. My uncle is up to something. He did not seem nearly as put out about me refusing Reinette outright as I would have expected.” 

“Wait! Did you refuse her outright? Your Highness,” Jack grabbed his forearm. “ _Christoph_. Don’t go, please! If there _is_ something going on, we need you here.”

Chris shook him off. “No, I need to go back. Keep me posted.” He got in the car and nodded to the driver, not looking back as the car drove away and the expansive palace lawns flew by the window, until finally fading into darkness. As much as Gallifrey was home, it was getting harder and harder to stay at the palace for any length of time surrounded by such shadowy memories. 

Half an hour later, he watched the lights of his homeland blink out as the private jet broke through the clouds flying south to England.

~*~O~*~

Rose Tyler muttered to herself as she got into the driver’s seat of her beat-up little Toyota, mimicking her mother’s tone. “ _Airs and graces, Rose, you’re giving yourself airs and graces._ ”

She gripped the steering wheel as the air conditioner cooled the hot car, then brought her forehead down to rest between her tightly clenched hands. 

“Airs and graces,” she mumbled.

She honestly didn’t know why she was surprised. It was the same argument she’d been having with her mother since she started working at Henrik’s after taking her A-levels all those years ago. Rose would seek to better herself, and Jackie would immediately complain about her hoity-toity attitude. As if she didn’t want better for her daughter than life on a council estate. Tonight had been the “ _airs and graces_ ” argument, as opposed to the “ _how’s that fancy art degree gonna pay the bills, Rose_?” row that had started sometime around the beginning of her second year and occasionally floated back up again.

It didn’t help that this time she was heading back to university with her bank accounts critically low. Snagging a coveted internship at the posh White Cube gallery on St. James Street had seemed like a brilliant coup, at first. Until she realized it was unpaid. On top of that, her boss had waited until after she’d accepted to tell her she needed to _modernize_ her wardrobe and sent her out to do just that. For the entire six weeks, Rose had tried to convince herself that the exposure to the artists and dealers was well worth the drain on her funds. But by the end of the summer, she’d begun to wonder if her mum wasn’t right, that the high-class art world was no place for a girl from the Powell Estate.

She gritted her teeth and squeezed the steering wheel tighter, just before she put the car into gear. 

No. She was good at art. Better than good, if she were to believe her lecturers. It might take a while, but she wanted more from life than an endless cycle of work, telly, and beans-on-toast. Rose was going to graduate from Wright-Chesterfield University, hopefully with a first, and get off the Estate, whether her mother believed it or not. 

She pulled out into traffic and drove herself to the university, ready to meet her new flatmate and begin her final year.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
_August 18, 2015_

Christoph arrived at WCU to a massive clusterfuck, and was starting to think that running a country might be less of a headache.

In an attempt to create ‘living plastic’ -- whatever the hell that was -- some postgraduate students had blown up the lab, and either the resultant fire or fire suppression system had damaged all of the offices and classrooms on the floor. Despite the millions of dollars worth of property damage, there had been no casualties and only minor burns, for which Chris was grateful. The whole situation brought back some painful memories, and he had no desire to attend the funeral of another person who had died in a lab fire.

The Chemistry department had been moving into the new science building over the summer, but since he’d been away, his office was the last to move. He liked to consider himself a flexible man - one didn’t deal with the unpredictable nature of politics without learning when to bend and when to stand - but he had to admit his patience was slipping. 

In addition to all of his books and personal effects being smoke or water-damaged, his thesis notes were ruined. He estimated a good two to three months of work had gone up in proverbial smoke. 

Jack would be thrilled. 

_Convert notes to digital format immediately upon creation. Lesson effectively learned_.

And then, as if the universe was laughing at him, while he’d been wringing out textbooks, the Dean of Sciences had approached him about taking on an extra module - Anatomy and Physiology - in addition to the two chemistry modules already on his schedule. He hadn’t wanted to and had nearly turned it down until he caught a glimpse of the Dean’s desperate look. Now, twenty-four hours later, he was regretting his snap decision. Beloved as he may have been, the recently deceased Dr. Constantine had taught Anatomy and Physiology for thirty years, and his class syllabus looked it. Chris was going to have to rewrite the entire term to bring it into the twenty-first century. 

A gaggle of students on a campus tour tittered outside his new office. Chris rolled his eyes, happy to hide from the freshers for a little longer. 

Yes. Dealing with the politics of running his country would _definitely_ be preferable to facing their vacant stares next week in lecture. 

The voice of the tour guide filtered through his door, explaining the new sciences building without mentioning how the chemistry wing in the old one had gone up like a roman candle. She was good; he had to admit. Nice, positive spin on things. Clearly a glass-half-full type of person. 

For some reason, the thought annoyed him even more.

His mobile rang, and he fished it from his pocket. “Foreman.”

There was no reply, and he pulled it away from his ear to see that his brand new office had crappy mobile service. This week was the ultimate in shitshows.

Stepping into the hallway, he tried again. “Foreman. Hello?”

Someone slammed into him, and his mobile flew from his hand, the sound of the screen shattering reaching his ears when it landed on the tile floor. 

Shitshow wasn’t even close. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, bending to pick up the ruined mobile. “What the bloody hell do you think…”

“Oh, I am so, so sorry,” a voice said, and he looked up. The rest of his tirade -- a curse-filled rant telling the babbling, clumsy fresher to shove off, that he didn’t need apologies, he needed a brand new iPhone and fast -- dried up when he saw her. 

Words failed him. 

She was gorgeous: honey blonde hair falling around her face, porcelain skin marred by the furrowing of her brow, and wide, soft lips turned down in a worried frown. 

It galloped through his mind that he’d much rather see that mouth smiling at him. 

Then she looked up at him, away from his mobile, and he felt his breath catch. Her brown eyes - almost amber - were filled with concern and remorse. Chris blinked. He could easily get lost in those eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry, sir. I was walking backward on the tour and didn’t see you.”

Wait, _sir_? Did she just call him sir? If she was leading the tour, she had to be at least a third year. She looked older than the average undergrad, yes, but not young enough to necessitate calling him ‘ _sir_ ’.

“It’s fine,” he found himself saying with a smile, absent of thought. “No problem.”

She raised one eyebrow. “But I broke your mobile.”

He looked down again and took in the spider webbing of the mobile’s glass. Then he raised his eyes to her face. 

“No big deal,” he shrugged, still smiling and not entirely sure why. 

The tour guide shot him a crooked smile, and Chris felt warmth surrounding him from it; wouldn’t have been surprised if his mobile had powered up on its own from her grin. 

“Looks like a big deal to me,” she teased, darting her eyes down to the shattered screen. 

He shrugged again. “Probably didn’t want to talk to whoever that was, anyway.”

“Well, I’m glad to have helped you avoid an unpleasant conversation.” She laughed, tucking her tongue in between her teeth; just a flash of pink that disappeared as quickly as it had come. 

Chris struggled for just a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Can we continue with the tour now?”

A man in a slick suit -- a fresher’s father, no doubt -- tapped his foot in irritation at being held up. Chris shot him a dirty look. 

The tour guide seemed to realize that she still had an audience, and her eyes widened for just a moment before she spun to address the students and parents behind her. 

“Yes, of course,” she smiled diplomatically. “Just a moment.”

She turned back to Chris, and her smile softened, became more genuine. “Are you sure I can’t do anything?”

How was a man supposed to think when those eyes were smiling at him?

“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it. It’s an easy enough fix, and I have insurance.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” she looked uncertain. 

It occurred to him to suggest that she could make it up to him by letting him buy her dinner, but the same solicitor-brand prat cleared his throat and interrupted his train of thought. 

“No problem,” Chris said, nodding at the crowd. “Best get back to the tour before you have a revolt on your hands.” 

She favored him with a quiet laugh, and the sound lightened him. 

“Alright then -- maybe I’ll see you again.”

He started to say he certainly hoped so, but the wanker-father commented louder, “Anytime you’re ready…”

She gave Chris an apologetic look, then turned back to the group. 

“Now, where were we? Oh! Yes! Shaw-Holloway Hall was completed this summer…”

She walked backward down the hall, leading the group, and his eyes followed her. She gave him a tiny wink before she turned the corner.

Chris felt the tension leave his shoulders as she vanished. Even the glass falling out of his mobile and onto the floor outside his office couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

~*~O~*~

Seven hours later, after a 200£ trip to the University IT department to fix his mobile, a _deep_ refresher course on physiology, and a lunch of stale biscuits he found in one of the boxes in his office, Chris arrived at his flat. Light streamed from under his door, which could only mean one thing.

“Finally, you’re here!” 

Harriet Jones got up from his couch like she owned the place -- which she did, technically. His landlady was charming on most days, and she flitted over him with the practiced attention of a mother hen. Tonight, however, he just wasn’t in the mood. 

Until the smell from the kitchen hit him. Sweet, creamy, and most definitely banana-y. 

“If there’s a banana-cream pie on my counter, Mrs. Jones, you’re forgiven for letting yourself in again.”

She smiled at him before bustling into the kitchen. If she came back with a cup of tea as well, he’d have to consider knighting her. 

He dropped his messenger bag by the door where he had left his suitcases early that morning. They were both absent, and he knew he’d find them empty and tucked under his bed, their contents neatly put away in his closet and drawers. After the day he’d had, he couldn’t bring himself to care about Harriet rifling through his pants. 

Collapsing on the couch, he stacked his feet on the coffee table and ran a hand over his stubble. The day had been ghastly from start to finish, the only bright spot being his literal run-in with that girl. God, all day her face kept returning to him, and he couldn’t figure out why. She was beautiful, yes. But, there was something else there, something more. 

Harriet nudged his feet off the table and handed him a plate and a mug of tea. God bless her. 

“The answer’s still no, Mrs. Jones.” 

“Damn, you’ve seen through my cunning plan.” Chris blew on his tea and smiled. “Not even to meet her for a cup of tea? She seemed ever so nice.” 

For the last two terms, Harriet had been trying to fix him up with various young ladies around town. The latest prospect worked at the Flydale infirmary, where Harriet’s mother was staying while she recovered from hip replacement surgery. 

The pie was still warm, a devilishly clever way to wear down his defenses, Chris had to admit, but he shook his head. Harriet opened her mouth, but before she could press her case, the flat’s door opened. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were back.” 

“So, what? You just let yourself in, anyway?” Chris said. The redhead shook her head as she put _her_ keys down on _Chris’_ entry table. He only feigned surprise at his neighbors’ unexpected visits. Growing up in a palace with servants around every corner, Chris had become immune to people in his personal space. It came with the royal territory. 

Donna Noble didn’t bother responding to his question. Chris would have been shocked if she had. 

“You would not believe the day I had,” Donna complained. “When did it happen that people stopped doing what they promised? I sort of expect that with men in relationships,” Chris rolled his eyes, “but business usually means a different thing. Is there more pie, Mrs. Jones? I don’t have much time before I need to be back at the station.” 

“Of course there is. You didn’t think that I’d let your first day back at work pass without a treat?”

“I don’t know what I would do without you, Mrs. Jones. And I certainly don’t know what Chris would do without you.”

Harriet patted his cheek. "I just can't stand to see Chris here suffer needlessly. If I didn't feed him, I think he'd starve."

Donna snorted, and Harriet jumped up to follow her other tenant into the kitchen. Chris finished his pie listening to the ladies’ raised voices. He placed the empty plate on the table and leaned his elbows on his knees. Chris enjoyed his feisty neighbor, whom he’d met during the second year of his history and politics undergrad. She’d been struggling to make decent marks in statistics and cursing the professor soundly, and Chris had been more than happy to help her.

She had done well for herself since then. Now the General Manager of the University Media Center, including the school’s newspaper, website, telly, and radio stations, Donna Noble had a terrifying wit and unabashed opinions, whether she knew the subject matter or not. Chris loved a good argument, and Donna gave as good as she got. A part of him regretted not getting to know her better all those years ago, but he’d been pleasantly surprised upon first letting the flat from Mrs. Jones to discover she was his neighbor. They’d settled into a comfortable friendship, and what had started as an occasional drop-in had escalated over the past year Chris had lived there. Before he’d left to go home at the beginning of the summer, there were twice-weekly gab fests in his flat, sometimes even when he wasn’t there. Obviously, those had continued in his absence. 

Arriving mid-blaze was common for Donna, and it usually took some time (and a bit of Harriet’s culinary skills) to cool her down. 

“So, when’d you get back?” Donna asked, plopping down next to him on the couch. 

“This morning.” 

“You look like hell.” 

He chuckled, taking no offense. “I’m making an effort not to be insulted.” 

“Nothing that a date night couldn’t fix,” Harriet added slyly.

“You have a date?” Donna asked, eyes wide with shock. 

“I do _not_ have a date. Mrs. Jones thinks…”

“There’s a lovely young lady at the Flydale infirmary…” 

Donna interrupted, shaking her head. “No, I can’t see Chris with anyone medical. He needs an academic.” 

“Oh, but she’s not a nurse, more like a volunteer…” 

“Still, I don’t think…” 

Chris stood up and took the plates into the kitchen. He wasn’t needed in this discussion, after all. By the time he washed up and returned, they had thankfully moved on. 

“...BBC4 pulled our syndicated host right out from under our noses. It’s unbelievable! Now I have to rearrange the whole overnight schedule. I’m never going to find someone at such short notice --” Donna stopped talking and stared at him, her eyebrow raised. 

He felt a prickle of alarm. Whenever Donna looked at someone like that, there was usually a good reason for it. “What?” 

“You’re into politics, right?” 

“Why do you say that?” he demanded, his alarm more than a prickle now. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what he might have told Donna or Harriet. For almost a decade now, he’d been able to keep his identity a secret while in London. No one, except for the University President, knew he was Prince Regent Christoph of Gallifrey. Hell, most people had never even heard of Gallifrey. On the listings of countries least recognizable, it landed below Lichtenstein and above some of the more obscure African nations. And, if he was honest, the only people who knew Lichtenstein existed were geography lecturers and fans of Heath Ledger. But Donna’s expression worried him. 

“Uh, because you’ve got a doctorate in it, Dumbo. Geez, blows my mind that you’re back for a _second_ one. People like you make the rest of us look like lumps of clay. But, if you’re…”

“No,” Chris stated flatly, more forcefully than he’d meant.

“You don’t even know what…” 

He raised his hands and shook his head, a little pleased that his instinct had been so spot-on but a lot more alarmed at whatever he was about to be roped into. “Doesn’t matter, the answer’s no.” 

“Now, come on Chris, that’s not fair. You can’t keep saying no to both of us. At some point, you’re going to need to do one of us a favor.” 

Chris looked from one woman’s face to the other, knowing he was sunk. Working for Donna versus a blind date with Harriet’s random hospital volunteer. Seemed like a lose-lose situation. 

“It won’t be for long; I just need someone with a broad set of knowledge, a decent head, a gift for being long-winded…”

“Oi!” 

“What? Like I’m telling you something you don’t already know? And once every twenty minutes you have to play a sponsor ad or a song.” 

“So, you want me to be a glorified DJ.” 

“The current terminology is _radio personality_ , old man.” 

He groaned, but Donna was unaffected by his display of dramatics. “Just for this week, I promise. Two nights, tops. To be honest, no one really listens to this time slot, but if I don’t have someone there, my job is toast.”

He sighed, giving in to her. “Alright, fine. But I want to use another name.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Don’t want everyone knowing who I am. Prefer to keep my private life private, is all.”

“What life?” Mrs. Jones snickered. 

“Whatever you say, Spaceman. Oooh, you could use that as your DJ name!”

“Not likely,” Chris snorted.

“So I’ll see you tonight, then?”

“Wait… _tonight_?” 

Donna smiled wickedly.

~*~O~*~

Rose slipped her shoes off and sank into the couch with a glass of wine and a wince. Every part of her ached from guiding triple the number of tours as usual on what had to have been the hottest day of the summer. Like most of London, only a few University buildings were air conditioned, and she spent too little time in them. Each group seemed to have its share of insufferable gits in them today -- demanding extra time, interrupting other families and students, complaining about the pace.

And that was just the _physical_ part of the day that sucked. 

Rose was required to take a science module as part of her major and had selected Anatomy and Physiology, thinking that it may help her in her portraits - one of her weaker skills, according to her advisor. She’d regretted signing up for the module almost as soon as she’d done it, knowing that it would be harder than anything else she’d tried, and had been dismayed when she’d received her schedule to see it back-to-back with her Advanced Painting course. It was right there, in black and white: Anatomy and Physiology, Tuesdays and Thursdays at 12:00, Dr. C. Foreman, lecturer.

She’d never heard of C. Foreman. Nor had Amy, her roommate. Amy was quick to tell her, though, that Anat/Phys was a notorious snoozer that existed primarily to suck students’ brains dry of all reasonable thought. She had thrown Rose a glimmer of hope when she said that this C. Foreman _couldn’t_ be any drier than Dr. Constantine had been.

Rose ran her fingers through her hair, sighing, then tucked her feet up under her and took another sip of her moscato. It would be fine. Really. She’d always had good marks in science in secondary and, well, this was just another branch of science. She just had to get through this one module and she’d have filled her requirements, so she could focus on her art. 

She could do this. 

But the tension in her shoulders and back was refusing to abate, despite the glass of wine and the loose shorts and t-shirt she had on. She gave up on the couch without much thought and set about digging out her art supplies. 

Their building boasted a large picture window in the common area that overlooked the University. Rose and Amy’s flat was on the top floor, and the view was spectacular, specifically now, at night, when lights twinkled all over the campus. 

Rose pulled out her easel and a canvas, setting it up beside the window so she could face out as she worked. She felt more relaxed already, going through the rote process of prepping to paint. Smiling to herself, she walked to the stereo just under the television and pressed scan, looking for a little bit of background noise. 

The dial landed on the campus radio station, and she nodded. A quiet voice and occasional music would be lovely. She could definitely work with that. She turned the volume down so that it was audible but not overbearing and dug out her paints, approaching the blank canvas with a warm sense of contentment.

The DJ was talking about political power struggles, and Rose found herself less interested in what he was saying and more intrigued by his voice. It was rich, deep, but somehow soft, and she was reminded suddenly and inexplicably of her run-in with the handsome stranger in the Chemistry wing. The DJ didn’t have the man in the hall’s light, accented speech, or she could almost believe they were the same man.

Rose let the brushes move almost of their own free will while she remembered the encounter. 

She honestly couldn’t recall ever having been so flustered by someone’s face before. There had been something about it she couldn’t quite explain, not even to herself. Individually, his features weren’t much: either too sharp or large. But together they blended perfectly into something...warm. Strong and bloody _gorgeous_. His eyes were the softest blue that she’d ever seen, intense and gentle in turn. 

He’d have had every right to be angry with her for breaking his mobile, but his smile had been kind, and he hadn’t seemed angry at all. 

Rose caught herself wishing that, if _he_ was one of the chemistry lecturers, she’d have been forced to take Chem instead of Anat/Phys. The silly, girlish thought made her giggle a little as she dipped her brush into a little ochre. 

The DJ spoke again from the speakers behind her. “ _You’re listening to 106.7, WCU Radio, and I am your temporary host, the Doctor_.”

 _The Doctor,_ Rose thought. An enigmatic name to go with an intriguing voice. 

“ _The station manager tells me that I have to play a song every twenty minutes, and God knows you don’t want to go up against her. So I’ve decided to play a song that sprung to mind today after I ran into someone who took a miserable day and made it brilliant with just a smile. Now that's real power. This song is for Her. It’s called Brown Eyes._ ”

A gentle piano melody started, and then a young man’s voice came on, singing about how he’d met a girl who had brown eyes, and he didn’t know her but he knew he had to see her again. Rose smiled at her embryonic painting and let the music wash over her, feeling a little envious of the girl who had a song dedicated to her. 

Lectures didn’t start until next week, so between now and then she had plenty of time to gather her strength and prepare for her schedule. She could paint, she could get to know Amy better. She seemed like a decent flatmate, and Rose was hoping that the two of them could be good friends. 

And until lectures started, she’d give tours all day, every day.

Maybe, if she were lucky, she’d run into that handsome bloke in the Chemistry department again. Rose found herself smiling at nothing while she painted, making far more progress than she typically did, and thinking that listening to the radio in the evenings might become a regular thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the song that the Doctor plays for Her.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfCBE9vNfa8)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
_August 24, 2015_

"I never agreed to four shows, Donna." 

"Sure you did, you just don't remember it.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Probably jet lag."

“I’m quite sure I would have remembered promising you two nights a week for two weeks,” he told her, both amused and annoyed.

“I'm calling you Spaceman from here on out, 'cause you are too spaced out to see what's going on under that nose of yours.”

"Oi!” He covered his nose protectively. “Keep the nose out of this!"

"You should at least be able to _hear_ what's said about you, what with those satellites you've got." 

" _Oi!_ "

Donna smirked at him, and he sulked at the slight to his appearance. Had it been anyone else, he’d have been insulted. But Donna could get away with all manner of things that nobody else would dare.

“Whether you remember it or not, _Spaceman_ , you agreed to fill in until I can find a replacement for Murphy.”

“I did no such thing,” he insisted. “You’re making this up as you go along, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” she winked. “But you have to admit, I do it brilliantly.”

Chris sighed. 

“ _C’mon_ ,” she tugged on his arm. “It’ll be fun. You’ll get to keep talking about whatever pops into that spacey head of yours, and you can keep playing songs to… _Her_.”

He pinned her with a sharp look, then sniffed as if totally unconcerned. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

Donna laughed. “I know you, Chris, and I’ve never seen you so much as take a second glance at a girl. She must be something else to warrant a dedication on the radio about how you can’t wait to see her again.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Has brown eyes, does she?”

Chris flushed to the tips of his ‘satellite ears’ and saw Donna’s eyes track the redness up. “Shut up.”

“You know half the campus is going to be thinking it’s them you’re talking about,” she teased. “Two shows and you’re already quite the hit.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Been getting calls and emails, wanting to know if ‘the Doctor’ would be coming back.”

He was more pleased by that than he wanted to admit.

“So, what do you say?” Donna went on. “Are you going to let down your adoring fans, or will you be coming back to the studio to do these shows for me?”

Chris sighed. He really shouldn’t. He had three modules to teach, a thesis to write and --

“Alright, fine,” he acquiesced, then pointed a finger at Donna. “But _only_ until you find a replacement for Murphy.” 

Donna made an X on her chest. “Cross my heart.”

“And you’ll actually be _looking_ for a replacement for Murphy, not just leaving me in the position indefinitely.”

“I’ll look,” she smiled.

He sighed again. Somehow, Chris doubted she would be. He wondered how on Earth she’d come in talking about two more shows, and now he was going to be doing it for the foreseeable future. 

He didn’t wonder too long, though. There was no point in it. Donna always got what she wanted in the end. Looked like he was officially the new campus DJ for the 9-11pm slot on Tuesdays and Thursdays, starting tomorrow night.

~*~O~*~

Rose knew the entire campus like the back of her hand. She could probably walk it in her sleep - backward. The official spiel she was required to give during her tours was that a student could get anywhere on campus in eight minutes. Apparently, that meant eight minutes at a full-out run, because there was no way she was going to make it from the art building, cozily tucked in one corner of campus, to the brand new sciences building in the opposite corner.

She hadn't even had time to pack away her art supplies properly, throwing the brushes into her bookbag still wet once Dr. O’Brien had dismissed everyone. She barreled into the foyer of Shaw-Holloway with only minutes to spare and looked around. Her schedule read Lecture Hall 5B, but the building was so new that not all of the signage had gone up yet. Did that mean the fifth floor? Growling to herself, she reluctantly approached the information desk, staffed by a bored undergraduate whom she only realized was wearing earbuds after she’d asked the question. 

“Lecture Hall 5B,” she asked again, getting the same blank look. “Dr. C. Foreman. Ring a bell?” 

The girl sighed dreamily. “He lectures in chemistry.” 

Rose looked at her, perplexed. “I’ve got him listed for Anat/Phys.”

“Oh, even better. He could explain the finer points of his anatomy to me in great detail any day of the week and twice on Sundays. And his _accent_..."

Rose walked away, muttering about the inanities of girlish crushes. She made a guess and headed to the west wing, now sure she was going to be late. Staring at her schedule like it held the answer to her classroom mystery, she turned the corner and hit something solid. She bounced backward, losing her grip on her bag, spilling brushes and half-completed sketches across the hall. 

“Shit!” 

Brushes splattered paint-dappled water against the wall, leaving a Jackson Pollock-like trail. Rose grimaced at the mess while trying to scoop them up. She felt someone behind her collecting the sketches and her unzipped bag, and she stood up to grab it but stopped when she heard a lightly accented voice speaking.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” 

Rose froze. No. It couldn’t be.

She turned around. It _was_.

“It’s you!” she gasped.

As soon as it slipped out, Rose bit her lip in a futile attempt to call it back. But it _was_ him, the man whose mobile she’d destroyed a week ago. The man whose eyes had hovered in the back of her mind as she led tours all week through the science building. 

He smiled, a wide toothy grin that smoothed his forehead while leaving crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes. “In the flesh. Looks like I’m returning the favor. Hope nothing is broken this time.” 

She stuffed everything back into her bag, not caring if anything _was_ broken, and cursing her timing. The lecture started, well... _now_ , once again leaving her no time to talk to him. 

There was one part of this she could rectify. Shoving the bag under her arm, she stuck her hand out, “M’name’s Rose. Rose Tyler.” 

“Nice to meet you, Rose Tyler. I’m Chris Foreman.” 

“Chris Foreman… Wait, _C. Foreman_?” 

“That’s me,” he said, his grin getting wider. 

They walked shoulder to shoulder a handful of steps, stopping at a closed door with a hastily taped up sheet of paper that proclaimed it 5B. 

“And this is my stop.” He opened the door, raising an eyebrow when she took a deep breath and slipped into the room before he could say anything else. 

Face burning, Rose slid into a seat in the upper-middle row of the cavernous lecture hall, scattered with less than two dozen students. _What the hell had just happened_? The man she’d been constantly thinking about the past week was her _lecturer_? 

Dr. C. Foreman - _Chris_ \- walked to the front of the room and crossed his arms, staring at the class, and Rose wanted nothing more than to dissolve into the red tweedy seatback. 

“Well, not a lot of you, are there?” The object of her fascination glanced around the room, getting a good look at each of the students before clapping his hands together as if deciding something. He slipped off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the desk as he turned towards the white board. 

_Oh, dear God, help me_ , Rose thought as she got a look at the back of him. As if the front wasn’t enough to do her in, his arse put her over the edge. She was never going to survive the term in here. He turned back around.

“Name’s Chris Foreman. You can call me Chris, Professor Foreman, or Doctor Foreman -- just not ‘ _sir_ '.” 

Rose thought his eyes sparkled as they landed in the general vicinity of her row. 

“Now, since there’s so few of you and I hate shouting, everyone come down to the front. C’mon, I don’t bite.” 

A few of her female classmates scrambled into the always empty front row, while Rose kept her head down and settled in the second, a seat closest to the door. 

“That’s better. Now, Dr. Constantine -- may he rest in peace -- loved to teach you lot about bone structure and nerve networks, and that’s good, very important stuff. But I want to teach you about the wonders -- the mysteries -- of the human body.” 

“Amen to that,” mumbled a reed-thin boy seated next to her. 

“I want to teach you why, say, you can’t keep your eyes open when you sneeze, or how even mentioning the word ‘yawn’ makes you feel like yawning. Go ahead, now, you’ll all be doing it in a bit,” he said with a grin. “I’ll wait.” 

He smiled smugly as the yawn made its way around the room. Rose couldn’t take her eyes off him; the joy of teaching flowed out of him like the bubbling fountain at the main campus entrance. 

“How about something closer to home? Say, why beans give you gas --” several sophomoric boys snickered, “-- or, why tea makes you have to pee more than other beverages. Why you _feel_ a blush when you’re embarrassed. Or why you remember certain people’s faces, but not others.”

Rose caught his glance this time; there was no mistaking his eyes laughing at her. She felt the blush he’d just mentioned as it caught fire and spread across her face - again - and slumped into her seat, wanting to drop right through the floor. 

“The mysteries of the human body, folks. You are in for a ride. Hope that sounds as good to you as it does to me.” 

Rose bit her lip and fiddled with her pen. _Torture, pure torture_. 

Forty-five minutes later, the lecturer - _Chris_ , Rose reminded herself - dismissed the class, and Rose watched a stunning brunette from the front row leave all of her books behind as she dashed forward to catch him. She wasn’t surprised. The man was gorgeous _and_ brilliant, although she suspected he took more pride in the latter, if he even recognized the former. There was a casualness about how he moved, so comfortable in his own skin, that was... well, it was _sexy_. 

Rose fled from the classroom (and building), happy that she had a tour leaving in fifteen minutes.

~*~O~*~

Chris packed his messenger bag, slipping his laptop in on top. The last student had finally left, an attractive brunette who wouldn’t know a gnat from a neuron. Jack would have liked her.

Chuckling at the thought, he glanced towards the door. 

It had been _Her_. The girl who’d smiled at him a week ago and made him feel five stone lighter when he’d been ready to give up on the day. The girl whose face he’d looked for every time he saw a tour on the campus, seeing her several times from a distance as she guided students around, but never close enough for any kind of encounter. The girl whose eyes had invaded more than one pleasant dream. The girl who finally had a name -- _Rose Tyler_. 

She was more beautiful than he remembered, and that was saying something. Her blush when she realized who he was had been utterly charming, and he had immediately decided that he wanted to see it again - leading to his impromptu remarks about feeling a blush and remembering a face. He should probably be sorry about embarrassing her as he had, but the blush was twice as charming the second time he saw it, and he found he couldn’t be sorry at all. 

She had clearly been nervous, and he wondered why. It _could_ just be that they’d run into each other - literally - twice now, or it could be that she was anxious about the class itself. 

Or it could have been that she was anxious around _him_ , and that was something he wanted to correct as soon as possible. One of the reasons he’d hidden the fact that he was Prince Regent was because he didn’t want that reaction in everyone he came across. And he found that he _really_ didn’t want that reaction from Rose.

_Rose_. Her name flitted about in his mind, bringing light to shadowy places, and he thanked God that she had given it to him before he had to discover it on the roll. He didn’t have to call her ‘Miss Tyler’, since she’d offered her first name so willingly. Made it more personal, somehow. 

Her name was as beautiful as she was, and he repeated it on a breath, trying out the way it felt in his mouth, as he stepped into his office. 

_Rose_.

He hadn’t been able to get the girl out of his mind, and now she was going to be sitting in his lectures twice a week.

Fantastic. 

But also not. It did present a bit of a problem… Rose was his _student_ , which made her thoroughly off-limits. 

That hadn’t stopped him from looking at her every time he thought he could do so covertly, though, and making witty comments aimed in her general direction. He grinned when he thought again about the way the blush had crept from her neck, down the top of her chest, and disappeared under the collar of her shirt. 

It didn’t stop him from puzzling about the art supplies she’d scattered all over the hall. What was an art student doing in an Anat/Phys module? He hefted his messenger bag onto his shoulder and set out towards his office. He’d just have to find that part out. Suddenly, he was looking forward to teaching this class more than he had any other in recent memory. 

On Thursday at noon, he’d see Rose Tyler again. 

He couldn’t wait.

~*~O~*~

Rose put her bookbag down on the kitchen table of her flat and went to the refrigerator to get a drink. She’d just twisted the top off the bottle when Amy poked her head out of her room.

“Hey, you. How was your day?”

Rose shrugged after she swallowed her water. “Not bad. My courses don’t seem too terrible so far.”

“Not even Anat/Phys?”

Rose tried to hide her red face by opening the fridge again to root around for leftovers. “Anat/Phys was fine,” she said in an airy tone. “The lecturer seems nice.”

Amy smirked and crossed her arms, leaning against the door frame. “You know, I’ve been hearing a bit about him. Seems he’s quite the hit amongst the ladies on campus.”

_I can see why_ , Rose thought.

Rose dragged a slice of pizza onto a plate. “He’s… handsome, in an odd way, I suppose,” she allowed, recognizing as she even as she said it that it was the understatement of the year. 

“I hear he wears a leather jacket everywhere he goes, even in the summer.”

Rose remembered the jacket, but she better remembered how he looked when he took the jacket _off_. Trying to tamp down yet another blush, she answered in what she hoped was a flippant tone. “He was wearing a leather jacket, yeah.”

“There were girls in my Lit class yesterday who had just come from his Chem 101. They talked about him a lot.”

Rose tried to stop the next words out of her mouth. She really did. 

They came out anyway. “What did they say about him?”

Amy shrugged one shoulder. “Just talked about how handsome he was, his sexy accent, the jacket. One of them said that she was likely to develop a fetish for leather just from looking at him.”

She snorted a laugh. She could see how that might happen. 

"Knowing that group, they'll probably make t-shirts before long,” Amy went on. “‘ _Leather Fetish_ ’. We’ll have to get you one. What’s your size? Small or medium?"

Rose closed her eyes, ignoring Amy while trying to erase the image of his leather-encased shoulders from her mind as she pulled her pizza out of the microwave. 

“Nobody talked about his classes being tough or anything?”

Amy flipped her hair over her shoulder and came to stand in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “You’re not getting it, Rose. They didn’t talk about his classes or what kind of lecturer he is _at all_. They didn’t talk about _anything_ but how fit he is. I think he could have had them doing hours of revising every night, and they’d have done it while smiling.” She gave Rose an appraising look. “Yet you’re barely talking about him at all.”

“Yeah, like I said, he’s handsome enough, I suppose,” she said again, this time glaring at Amy. “But he’s my _lecturer_.” Even as she said it, Rose knew that the warmth of her blush renewing put lie to the hollow protest.

And by Amy’s answering grin, she knew it, too.

“I think I might sit in on your next Anat/Phys, so I can get a look at this dreamboat.”

Rose shrugged, chewing her dinner. “If the girls in class were any indication, you might have a hard time finding a seat. They flocked to the front row; it was unreal. I suspect that some of them may be bringing friends, too. But you’re welcome to come to my next lecture, Thursday at noon.”

“Damn. I’ve got marketing then.” Amy pushed off the counter with a glance at the clock on the microwave. “I’m off to the local; got a date with Rory. Don’t wait up.”

“Am I ever going to get to meet this Rory of yours?”

Amy gave her a crooked grin. “I’m sure he’ll be staying over at some point.”

Rose grinned back at her. “Oh, it’s like _that_ , is it?”

“Yeah, it’s like that. He’s… he’s wonderful.”

She waved her flatmate off. “Go. Have your date. I’ve got my own date... with a canvas.”

Amy shook her head. “You and your art. One day, you’re going to find something to be passionate about besides paints. Maybe some _one_.”

She didn’t see much chance of that - her history with men was abysmal at best - but she didn’t contradict her friend, just gave a little hum.

“Alright, then,” Amy said, grabbing her purse from the table where it sat beside Rose’s bookbag. “I’m out. Have a good night.”

“You too!”

Amy closed the door behind her, and Rose smiled at it for a second. She had lucked out in the flatmate department; Amy was fun and nice, a welcome combination. She found herself excited, sensing a good friendship blooming. 

Rose looked at the microwave and checked the time. 8:55. The Doctor would be on the air soon. She rolled her shoulders and looked at her art supplies. 

She could deal with another ‘date’ with ‘the Doctor’. 

She crossed the room, sat down her bottle of water and pulled out a fresh canvas. The landscape she’d been working on was finished, and it was time for a new project. She set up her materials and went to the stereo, turning it on, noting that it was still tuned to the campus radio station. 

His voice filled the flat, and she smiled as the tension left her shoulders. She bit the top of her brush, thinking. 

The Doctor talked about the shocking debate in Parliament over the addition of a mother’s name to their children’s marriage certificate. Rose hadn’t been aware of this oversight, but laughed as the Doctor scoffed at some of the ridiculous arguments against it. 

“ _In this day and age, a woman’s marriage shouldn’t be treated as a business transaction between fathers. It’s ludicrous. How many single mums out there have been forgotten because of this antiquated piece of history_?” 

Rose’s brush flew over the canvas, bolstered that the Doctor wasn’t a typical bloke. 

“ _Names have power, and should be remembered. I know there’s one that I won’t soon forget_.” 

Her brush swirled in the paint as the Doctor sighed -- blowing on the microphone so long and deep she almost felt her hair stir. 

“ _I still have to play the required songs, so I’m told. So I’ll do what I did last week. This song is for Her and her name_. ”

The radio began to play a cheerful song about a girl the singer had a crush on, but he wouldn’t reveal her name. Rose bit her lip while she painted and tried not to be jealous of the mystery woman who was getting songs dedicated to her on the radio by the Doctor with the gorgeous voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the song the Doctor dedicates to Her.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vG7WtnCJBfE)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
_September 22, 2015_

“ _All I’m saying is that if we can’t teach our children better, what are we really doing here? The --_ ”

Donna flew into the control room and slammed the door behind her, eyes wide. There was a minute of dead air while Chris blinked at her before remembering what he was supposed to be doing.

“ _And there’s my station manager telling me it’s time to play a song. This one goes out to Her._ ” 

Flicking the switch for the queued-up song, he muted the mic and the volume for the internal feed so that Donna wouldn’t be able to tease him later about how far gone he was.

“What the hell’s going on? Someone chasing you?”

“Not exactly,” Donna hedged.

“Donna…”

“There’s a…,” she gestured vaguely. “Swarm?”

“Bugs?”

“Gaggle?” Donna tried again.

“Geese?”

She huffed. “Girls.”

“ _What_?”

“Girls. A dozen of them, easy. Outside the station. Trying to get in.” Chris jumped up from his chair, and Donna immediately put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back into it. “No, no, no. You stay right there.”

“Donna --”

“No, really. They’re looking for you.”

“Me?”

“Well, a few of them were wearing shirts that said ‘I heart the Doctor’, so, yeah. Pretty good bet.”

Donna yammered on about studio security and hiding her -- well, the _station’s_ best asset -- but Chris tuned her out. There went the anonymity he had been hoping for. 

“...it might work.” 

“What might work?” 

“I was sayin’ I think we can get you out the maintenance tunnels. But we need to leave now before your latest love dedication ends.” 

Chris shot her a sideways glare, but grabbed his jacket and followed her out of the sound booth as the final strains of the song trailed off to dead air.

~*~O~*~

It took a while for Rose to realize it was quiet.

She had been crouched close to the canvas, blending in some shadows with her thumb, happy with the newest technique she’d learned when she noticed the change. 

The song The Doctor had dedicated to Her -- another eclectic choice that continued to leave him and his muse a mystery -- had ended. But his mellow voice hadn’t returned. The silence extended so long, Rose walked to the stereo and stared at it before fiddling with the dials and peering at the power cord. The show had just... ended without warning, with forty-five minutes left. 

After a few more minutes of eerie silence, there was a scratching and a horrible screech of feedback through the speakers, followed by a woman’s voice. 

“ _Is this on? Oh, right....hello, folks. Sorry for the delay. The Doctor will be back again Thursday night. We’ll be starting our Dark Side programming a bit earlier tonight, enjoy._ ” 

Some strange combination of flutes and drums started, like a snake charmer coaxing the University vipers out of their baskets across campus. Rose flicked it off, no longer interested. 

What had happened to the Doctor tonight? She wondered as she packed up her half-finished painting. There was no point to continue; the interruption had caused her shadow experiment to dry before she was done, essentially ruining her evening’s work. 

She should have been working on her Anat/Phys homework, anyway. The class was much harder than anything she had taken before, but not because Chris didn’t make it accessible. If anything, he made it seem _too_ accessible. He started each lecture with a funny anecdote linked to the topic of the day, bringing the human body and its capabilities to life. Like the time when he told them the fastest growing nail was on the middle finger and laughed out loud -- deep and rich -- when they all checked at the same time. Or the experiment he did when he poured hydrochloric acid over razor blades to demonstrate the power of stomach acid. 

Sitting through his lectures was a thrill; the math, problem sets, and sheer volume of material, a nightmare. Tonight should have been dedicated to revising those, especially with her first exam coming up on Thursday.

She snatched her textbook out of her backpack and flopped onto the couch with a sigh.

~*~O~*~

Things were good. And that should have worried Chris, but for the first time in a long time, he was really happy.

According to Jack’s weekly email updates, life in Gallifrey remained stable. Aside from a few comments about questionable palace visitors, Jack reported that the Duke and Council appeared to be managing the country competently. It was more than Chris had expected and he was determined to take advantage of the stability. 

Donna had solved the Doctor fan-club issue -- “Leatherettes”, she annoyingly called them -- by having the IT Department set up a virtual network to the studio on his laptop. Two days after his James Bond-style studio escape, he had his feet propped up on his desk, recording his show like nothing had happened. She’d even gotten him a link to the station’s vast recording library -- forty-thousand songs at his disposal. Most of them were rubbish, but still made for interesting perusal. Donna swore she was still looking for someone to replace him. By the twinkle in her eye when she’d said it, he suspected that she was being less than truthful.

But if he was honest, he didn’t really mind. He found, much to his surprise, he was enjoying the radio show. It gave him a forum to vent his frustrations about the state of the world in general and politics specifically, without any of it being linked back to Prince Christoph.

His Anatomy/Physiology lecture had filled, with more and more add-ins every time he walked in the door. Oddly, most of them were female. But he only had eyes for one. There hadn’t been any other ‘run-ins’ with Rose outside of lecture, and it was frustrating him. He’d loitered around his office more than his usual office hours required, hoping to see her on the tours that came by, but it seemed those had dwindled down to almost nothing. Funny, he’d never paid attention to the tour schedule before meeting her, and now he wondered if there were any still going on.

Unlike seemingly every other student in the lecture, she always left as soon as he dismissed them. Frequently, she did so with her head down as she passed his desk. It gave him pause. There was no reason for her to be shy anymore… unless _he_ was causing it. 

The thought thrilled him to the bone.

~*~O~*~

Rose waited for Amy outside of her marketing lecture on Tuesday, having skipped Anat/Phys. They’d discussed getting lunch the night before, which would give Rose a chance to meet the fabled Rory. Amy had raised her eyebrow and asked why she wasn’t going to Anat/Phys. Rose shrugged her off, saying that she couldn’t turn down a chance to meet Rory.

Truth was, as much as she hated the idea, she was seriously considering dropping the class, given how she felt after the first test. Rose was well on her way to obtaining a first in art - a great source of pride for her - and the thought of a poor Anat/Phys mark blowing her chances made her ill. She’d worked too hard to let that happen. 

The only thing keeping her in the class (and, ironically, her biggest reason for wanting to drop it) was Chris. 

He was too distracting by half, and she could no longer deny her attraction to him. Not that she’d tried very hard, not even after she broke his mobile the first day she ran into him. But his smiles in her direction - or in any direction - were becoming a bit of a problem. How was she supposed to concentrate when his eyes twinkled like that? 

She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. 

But the thought of dropping the class and never seeing him again was equally distressing. She’d found herself looking out for him every time she gave a tour, up until they ended last week. 

Rose didn’t just want to run into him though, she wanted to talk to him, have a meaningful conversations with him. Not just hear his accent wash over her while she learned about the musculoskeletal system. Discover where that accent was from, what brought him to Uni in London, and… well… everything. 

_Much_ too distracting. 

Amy walked out of the building with a group of girls and smiled when she saw Rose, turning to wave and say goodbye to her other friends before she approached. 

“I halfway thought you’d bail on me, seeing as how you’ve got the dreamboat’s class at noon.”

Rose ducked her head and tightened her grip on her purse strap. “I told you I was skipping lecture today so that I could go out with you and Rory. For lunch.”

Amy gave her an appraising look, then grinned widely. “Whatever you want. He’s tutoring advanced chemistry until one, so if we head over there we should be able to meet him instead of waiting at the cafe.”

There was a niggle of worry at being in Shaw-Holloway so close to the end of the Anat/Phys lecture, but she shrugged it off. Chris would likely be tied up with one of the simpering girls that hung around afterward, or gone to do something else entirely. It wouldn’t be a problem.

They arrived with five minutes to spare. Amy leaned against the wall, striking an effortlessly glamorous pose, and Rose stood in front of her. 

“So what’s the real reason you skipped lecture today?” Amy asked. 

Rose sighed. “I bombed my first exam. I blew it, I know I did. My chance at a first will be sunk if I get a low mark, so I’m thinking of dropping it.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t do that. It wasn’t so bad,” came an accented voice behind her. Her eyes slid closed in embarrassment before she turned around to look at the man who had been on her mind almost constantly for weeks. 

“Dr. Foreman,” she said, trying desperately to remind herself that he was off-limits by addressing him formally. “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Chris, please,” he smiled.

“Yes. Chris,” Rose agreed.

She turned her head and gave the smiling Amy a glare. ‘ _You couldn’t have told me_?’ she mouthed at her friend around gritted teeth.

Amy just grinned.

 _Traitor_.

“I noticed you weren’t in lecture today, is that why?”

Rose nodded, unable to speak under his gaze. This close, she could see an icy-greyness in his eyes that was lost when he was standing by the whiteboard. 

“You really shouldn’t worry. It wasn’t that bad. Your mark was in the high 50s.”

She was surprised. Her face must have shown it, because Chris grinned. 

“You’re surprised?”

“A bit, yeah. Better than failing, but not by much.”

“You should keep with it, Rose.”

“I…” she struggled to form a coherent thought at hearing her name in those accented tones. “I suppose I should, if I’m not doing as poorly as I thought.”

Chris’ smile lit up the corridor.

“I’m Amy.” Her friend thrust her hand forward to the lecturer, who took it. “Rose’s flatmate. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

If looks could kill, Amy would have been a desiccated corpse.

“Is that so?” Chris raised his eyebrows. “Hopefully nothing too terrible.”

“Oh, no,” Amy assured him. “Only nice things. She enjoys your lectures, even if she’s worried about the class.”

“Well, Rose has no reason to worry,” he said, turning back to her. “Your degree isn’t in science, is it?”

“That obvious?” she joked. “It’s art.”

“The brushes gave it away.”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling incredibly stupid. 

Rose prayed fervently for Rory to arrive. She waffled between wanting to spend the rest of the afternoon talking to Chris and fleeing the building with her flatmate immediately. 

“Well, I hope you’ll be back in lecture on Thursday. Do you need the notes from today?”

“I… I suppose I do.”

Chris opened his messenger bag and rummaged for a second, pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it to her. “Here. That should be a decent enough guide for you if you can read my handwriting; I’m a bit old-fashioned about notes.”

She looked down at the paper blankly. It was written in his careful, very legible hand. 

“Thank you,” she said, looking back up into his smiling face. 

“You’re entirely welcome. So I’ll see you on Thursday?”

“Not if I see you first,” she flirted, then wanted to sink into a hole when Amy snickered behind her. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Amy,” Chris said, offering his hand.

“And you.”

“Rose, I look forward to Thursday.”

_Oh, so do I._

“Thank you again. For the… for the notes.”

“No problem. Have a nice weekend.”

“You too,” Amy answered for her, then nudged Rose.

“Yes, you too.”

He waved again with a smile, and walked away. Rose turned back to Amy, her face flaming.

“ _You_ …” 

“Oh, girl. You have got it _so bad_ ,” Amy crowed.

“I do not. I told you, he’s my _lecturer_.”

“Methinks you doth protest too much.” Amy put her back against the wall again, smirking at Rose. “Tell the truth. You like him.”

“I can’t --”

“Because _clearly_ , he likes you, too.”

Rose gaped at her. “He does not.”

Amy snorted. “You know, Rose, you’re clever. You’re dead clever. But when it comes to this, you’re a moron.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Rose insisted. “He’s just… he’s a good lecturer that cares about his students.”

“Some more than others,” Amy replied dryly. “Do you think he’d have asked any other student why they missed lecture, or offered his notes?”

“Sure he would. He’s nice.”

“Nice,” Amy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Nice.”

“He’s got rather … _nice_ eyes.”

Rose felt warm. “Shut up.”

Amy just gave a victorious giggle, and the door to the room beside them opened. Rose thanked God for the end of the conversation. 

A tall young man walked out and Amy lit up when he turned and spotted her. He walked over to them, bending a little to give Amy a quick kiss. 

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hi,” she beamed up at him.

Rory seemed to notice that they had an audience, and turned to Rose. “You must be the flatmate I hear so much about.”

Rose smiled. “Hopefully nothing too terrible.” She realized as soon as the words were out that she’d echoed Chris. Amy noticed, too, and her brown eyes twinkled at her.

“Oh, no. She’s very fond of you.”

“Oh that’s good. I’d hate to be the only one in the flat that liked my flatmate.”

“Even if you don’t like me right now,” Amy snarked. 

Rory gave a little roll of the eyes, as if he was used to Amy’s mischief. “What’d you do now.” It was a statement, not a question, and Rose was amused in spite of herself.

“Nothing!” Amy protested. “It’s just that Rose here has a crush on her lecturer…”

“Amy!” Rose squawked.

“...And it’s obvious he returns that affection.”

Rory turned to Rose with a raised eyebrow. “That so?”

“Oh my God,” Rose moaned, shaking her head. 

“Notice that you don’t hear her protesting it.”

“I don’t,” Rory agreed.

Rose groaned. “This is a nightmare.”

“Lecturers aren’t allowed to date their students. There was a bit of a mess during the summer term with a student-prof fling. Didn’t end well for either party.” 

Amy peered at him. “What about when she’s no longer his student?”

He shrugged. “Fair game, then, I suppose. The regulation only applies to lecturers and tutors dating students who are in their modules. So far as I know, if she’s not in his class, it’s all alright.”

Amy turned to Rose with a smug smile. “Well there you have it, then.”

Rose groaned and covered her eyes with her hand.

Rory grinned, then took pity on her. “Well, no use standing around here all day. Let’s go to lunch.”

“Yes, please. Before Amy gets any more wild ideas,” Rose said. 

Amy slipped her hand into Rory’s, and they started out of the building, thankfully discussing a new subject - _not_ Rose’s crush on Chris Foreman.

~*~O~*~

Encouraged by her exam grade -- though not _that_ encouraged, it was in the 50’s, after all -- Rose suffered through the next week of lectures. She had been looking forward to lab on Friday, the one day Chris turned his class over to the AT, a bespectacled, lanky fellow in his early 30’s who, in any other module, would have been fawned over for his own assets. As it was, AT David, as he told everyone to call him, had been soundly ignored.

The microscopes were set up in a row when she filed into the basement lab. Rose slid onto the stool next to Craig; ‘partners-in-grime’, he’d dubbed them when she arrived after a long session with charcoal smears on her hands and nose. Craig’s heavy-set frame spilled over the stool, but his no-nonsense style fit with her own. After reviewing the instructions, they quickly divided the work. While Craig handled the centrifuge and sheep’s blood, Rose started the process of counting red and white blood cells. They made a good team, and ironically, the lab component of her mark was the strongest. 

Two hours slipped past quickly, and Rose waved from where she was hunched over the microscope when Craig packed up and said good-bye. She asked him to turn off the lights when he left, hoping it would reduce the glare. In a snap, the room plunged into darkness, further highlighting the beauty on the slide she couldn’t take her eyes off. Both eyes were glued to the microscope, while her hand sketched what she saw. The blood sample was gorgeous. As soon as she saw it magnified 400 times, she knew she had to draw it. Wishing she had her good drawing pencils with her, Rose made do with a normal one, trying to capture the delicate cell structure. 

“That is remarkable.” 

She jumped back, holding her hand to her chest. “Shit!” 

Chris stood back, hands up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Thought you heard me come in.” 

“No, no. I guess I got a bit absorbed, I have that habit when I’m doing stuff like this.” 

“Calculating the mean corpuscular hemoglobin concentration?” he asked, and his lips twitched up in a smile. 

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” she smiled, matching his tone. His unquestionably _flirtatious_ tone. 

“I meant it,” he said, nodding towards her rough sketch. “You’re very talented.” 

She widened her grin. “Thanks, never thought blood was my thing, but then again, never saw it magnified like that before. It’s gorgeous.” 

The fluorescent lights flicked back on, blinding them both for a moment. AT David stood in the doorway. 

“Sorry, Dr. Foreman, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to set up for the last lab.” 

Rose had already started powering down the microscope, rushing to slip the slide out from under the clip. 

“Leave it, Rose. I’m sure David doesn’t mind sorting this.” He picked up her sketch and took a closer look. “David, if Rose doesn’t mind, can you scan this for me? She’s captured the neutrophils and basophils in amazing detail. Will be good to use for future exams.” 

Rose focused on AT David’s face as he joined them at her table rather than risk looking at Chris. The burning in her chest that she got whenever anyone complimented her work was there, but was so much more pronounced because it had come from him. 

“Sure,” AT David said, taking the page from Chris. “It’s awesome work. I’ll be right back.” 

“Rose --” Chris started once they were alone again, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a handful of students.

She risked a peek at him once more before packing up and floating out of the room, wondering what he was going to say.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
 _October 20, 2015_

Chris stopped at the end of each row, passing out midterm exams, ignoring row after row of young ladies -- and a few men -- who fluttered their lashes at him, going out of their way to brush their fingers against his. 

With all the exams handed out, he went back to his desk and tugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair and having a seat. He pulled out the midterms from his Monday/Wednesday chemistry class and started to mark them, taking advantage of the relative quiet that would provide a distraction-free environment, aside from the occasional cough and shuffle of papers. 

Except it was impossible for him to concentrate while Rose was in the same room. 

Chris leaned back in his chair, pretending to survey all of the students, but his eyes found Rose immediately. Even with her face screwed up in concentration, she was beautiful. He watched her read a question, putting the tip of her pen into her mouth to chew it for a moment, then applying it back to the exam paper, her blonde ponytail brushing her cheek as she bent to write. 

_Lucky pen_.

Shaking himself before his thoughts could stray _too_ far in the direction of what those soft lips would feel like against his skin, he returned to his own work. 

But his eyes kept seeking her out every few moments. 

One hour ticked away towards two, and students started dropping their completed exams on the corner of his desk. A few tried to catch his eyes and give him a smile. He gave each student a nod, then bent back to his work with a glance at Rose. 

She looked distressed, and knowing she had concerns about her marks, he wanted to go to her. Professionalism prevented it, though, and he remained seated. 

Finally, when there were only a handful of students left, Rose got to her feet, flipping the pages of her exam booklet closed and tucking her pen behind her ear absently. He watched her approach, gripping her exam like it was the map to the Holy Grail. She gave him a shy smile. 

“Alright?” he asked, barely above a whisper. 

“I guess we’ll see.”

He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but wasn’t sure that it didn’t come off more smitten than anything else.

Rose’s eyes were troubled as they lingered on the exam in her hands before she placed it on top of the growing pile with a sigh. He forced a nonchalant nod and deliberately looked back down at the test papers as she left.

If he’d thought for one moment that Rose no longer being in the room meant he’d be able to concentrate better, he was wrong. Now, instead of looking up at her, his eyes more often than not slid over to the cover of her exam where she’d written her name with large swirling letters.

Several minutes later he snatched it away before it could be covered by the growing pile of papers, willing to pretend that he’d been grading this module’s exams all along.

He opened it.

~*~O~*~

Rose spent the rest of the day in turmoil. She had studied as best she could for the midterm, but some of the questions had been difficult, and a few she’d had no answer for at all. Each time someone got up to turn their exam in, her stomach clenched. The clock ticked louder with each passing minute. After reviewing her answers the third time, she walked to Chris’ desk, gripping the exam, hoping and praying the missing answers would pop into her brain before she got there.

They hadn’t.

Imposter syndrome -- or ‘stinkin-thinkin’ as Amy called it -- followed her out of the building. As if a girl from the estates could ever hope to graduate from uni, let alone with a first. Blinking back tears, she took a deep breath, reminding herself she’d done the best she could. But guesses and hopes wouldn’t get the job done. The anxiety of what she’d likely see when Chris returned the exams was enough to choke her. 

_Chris_. Oddly, she was just as worried about what he would think of her. The thought of him grading her exam stopped her in her tracks. An image of him at his desk, chuckling at her hastily written answers or the skipped questions left her nauseous. He was the one who told her to stick with it, to stay in the class; he’d believed in her and her abilities. A poor mark after that show of confidence was almost worse than the failing mark itself. 

Rose didn’t bother to wonder why his opinion of her was just as important as the actual mark. She wasn’t quite ready to face the fact of how far gone she was for her lecturer. 

She didn’t have time to dwell on her exam, though. Not right now. Money had become more of a problem than it ever had been before and she was starting to feel nearly desperate. Rose had grown up on the estate, the daughter of a single mum, so hardship was nothing new to her. She could stretch a pound better than anyone she knew.

But she had to have pounds to stretch. And since the well-paying tours had tapered off, her bank account was inching closer and closer to the red. 

Thankfully, she had a job to return to. She’d been waiting tables at The Bad Wolf, one of the pubs on campus, the entire time she’d been a student at WCU. It had become almost a second home to her; the pub’s four walls would be as difficult to say goodbye to as the university itself when she finally graduated. Her boss, Ianto Jones, had been disappointed when she’d phoned during the summer to let him know she’d accepted an on-campus position, but he made sure she knew he would make room for her on his wait staff anytime she wanted to return. Knowing that she would have _some_ source of income until tours resumed was an unspeakable comfort. 

Rose turned the corner and spotted The Bad Wolf’s sign, a black wolf baying at the moon silhouetted against a gold background. It was early enough in the day that the pub wouldn’t be busy, and Ianto always worked on Thursdays. 

She pushed the door open, smiling a little at the familiar tinkling of the bell. 

Ianto was behind the bar, counting bottles of liquor and marking the paper on his clipboard. He raised his head, and his face broke into a smile when he saw Rose.

“Afternoon, Ianto.”

“Rose! Welcome back. Is it that time already?” 

With his perfectly coiffed hair and impeccable wardrobe, Ianto looked more like he should be managing a fine tea shop than the campus local. He was never overdressed - in fact, he was quite casual in his jeans and oxford. But his clothes were always very fashionable, fitting his body exactly right. Even the scruff on his face was neatly trimmed to accentuate his jawline and always looked just so, never messy or unkempt. While he wasn’t Rose’s type, it wouldn’t have mattered much if he had been. Ianto’s romantic tastes followed along the same lines as his clothes -- masculine and well-cut. 

“Yes, sir. I’ve got my class schedule right here.” She laid it on the bar and glanced around the pub as he looked over her schedule. As expected, the well-worn bar stools and tables carved with the names of multiple generations of students were still empty, the lone noises coming from the telly in the corner and the kitchen where dinner prep was in full swing. 

From the other side of the bar, Ianto huffed and Rose turned her attention back to him.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I’m sorry, Rose. I know you need the hours, but all I can give you is Monday and Wednesday evenings.”

A beat passed before Rose realized that he wasn’t going to continue.

“That’s it? That’s only half --” She took a deep breath, recognizing the apologetic look in her boss’ eyes for what it was. 

“I could probably squeeze you in during the lunch rush on Wednesdays, too.”

It might be enough. Tips would be better on the weekend shifts, and she’d hoped to at least get one of those days, but she could probably make do. “Okay. Mondays and Wednesdays it is. It’ll give me more time to focus on my homework, yeah? It’s going to be a busy year.”

“You know you can always pick up as many shifts as the others will let you have.”

“Yeah. ‘Course.” She grabbed her schedule and shoved it into her pocket. “See you Monday?”

Rose accepted his goodbyes and left the pub, hoping that she wouldn’t have to search for a third job to make ends meet.

~*~O~*~

Rose filed into lecture on Tuesday with the rest of the students and took her place towards the middle of the hall. She pulled out her laptop and notebook, setting them up, and waited for the lecture to begin.

Chris arrived when it was mostly full, going to the desk and slipping off his jacket. She heard the girl two seats over make a sound, and Rose gave her a sideways glance. 

“That _bum_ ,” the girl said on a sigh.

Rose followed the girl’s eyes and found herself staring at Chris’ backside. With great restraint, she forced herself not to sigh dreamily and rest her chin in her hand, a copy of the pose going on around the room. 

Chris caught her eye when he turned around and Rose looked down at her laptop, staring at the blinking cursor. Anywhere but those eyes. 

Clapping his hands once and speaking loudly to get their attention, Chris said, “Alright, you lot. Plenty to go over today, so let’s get started.” He started talking about the lymph nodes and how they helped to filter out and prevent disease. Rose’s hands flew over the keys as she tried to take thorough notes, glancing up over her laptop’s screen every now and then to just take him in. 

With ten minutes left to go, he made an announcement. “We’re going to cut lecture short today so that I can hand back your midterm exams. Not bad marks, for the most part. Well done. When I call your name, come up and get your papers, then you’re excused. Christine? Craig? Doris?”

One by one, the students gathered up their things and walked up front to pick up their papers until most of them had left the lecture hall. Some squealed happily at their grades, some shrugged and seemed to be relatively pleased, and a couple of people made little faces of distress as they made their way out of the hall.

“Rose?”

Rose shot to her feet and walked down the stairs towards his desk. He handed her folded paper to her with a smile. She threw him a shaky smile in return, then walked back towards her seat, opening the paper as she went. 

In red, at the top of the page was the number 49 in a circle, and just below it he’d scrawled the words “see me” in a handwriting she hardly recognized as being the same one from the lecture notes he’d loaned her. She looked back up at Chris and caught his eye. He gave her a tiny nod, even as he handed a paper to another student, and she nodded back, a lead weight sinking in her stomach. 

When the hall cleared, she met him at his desk. He leaned back against it, his arms and ankles crossed, looking for all the world like a lazy lion. A _sexy_ , lazy lion. She swallowed hard and tried to tame her wild thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, Chris, I just…”

“You’re struggling.” 

Rose nodded, her head bowed. “Yeah. I am.”

“You’re clever, and I know you can get this.”

“I’m not sure I can,” she admitted in a small voice.

“What’s tripping you up? The material?”

She laughed, nervously. “Well, yeah, you could say that...”

Chris nodded. “I noticed your homework grades have gotten a bit lower.”

“Noticed that myself, too. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. I just want to see you succeed.”

They both stood in silence, Rose biting her lip and wanting to get away. 

“There is a study group. Meets on Monday nights.” 

“Yeah, I work on Mondays.” 

The silence lengthened between them. “Would a tutor help?”

Rose darted her gaze up at him. “A tutor?”

“Yes. Do you think that would help?”

She thought for a moment. The job at the pub was bringing in some extra money, but tutors were expensive. Then again, she needed to make a better mark in this class. She nodded. 

“How much do tutors run?” she asked, hoping to sound casual.

“Oh, I wouldn’t charge you,” he smiled. 

“You- _you’ll_ tutor me?”

“Can’t think of anyone better to do it than the lecturer,” he shrugged with a grin. “I’m sure that with just a couple of sessions a week, we can get that mark up quite a bit.”

“I...I…” Rose stammered.

“Would that help?”

“Yes, I think so, si- yes.”

“Well,” he declared, “I have time this afternoon. You can come by my office. If you want.”

Rose didn’t know if this was a dream come true or a nightmare come to life. But there didn’t seem to be a choice; her mark required it. 

_Besides_ , a small, wicked part of her thought. _Haven't you been wanting to spend more time with him_?

“Yeah. I’d like that,” she smiled at him, feeling her tongue slide between her teeth and not missing the way his eyes followed it. 

Maybe Amy was right…

Her heart pounded. 

“Fantastic!” he said after a second. “So, this afternoon? Do you have lecture?”

“At four.”

“Why don’t you come by my office around two, and we’ll start working.”

Rose couldn’t say anything, so she just nodded, beginning to realize just how phenomenally bad of an idea this was.

~*~O~*~

To the outside observer, Chris was hard at work in his office. His laptop was open, papers were strewn across his desk, and he had his head cradled in one hand as he stared down at the physics textbook in front of him.

What the outside observer couldn’t possibly know was that he’d read the same paragraph three times now, and the words had slid across his eyes like beads of water on glass. 

He must have been out of his mind to offer to tutor Rose. He’d never offered that to one of his students before, instead directing them to the study groups that inevitably formed every term. In his own defense, he’d _tried_ to do that with Rose, too. But when she said that she couldn’t attend, he’d blurted his offer before giving it a second thought. 

He couldn’t deny his attraction to her, not even to himself. But he didn’t think he was the kind of person who would offer to tutor her solely due to his infatuation with her - at least, he hoped not. 

He genuinely wanted to see her do well, to succeed, and he was willing to do whatever he needed to do in order for that to happen. 

Chris was playing with fire and he knew it. He couldn’t date his student, the university’s decree against lecturers and students fraternizing left no wiggle room. She was off-limits. 

But she was clearly in need, and he was in a position to help her earn a better mark. That way he could spend some time with her and maybe get to know her, too, even if nothing could come of it.

He was still in turmoil when Rose came by a couple of minutes before two. She knocked on his open door and he glanced up, his face brightening. 

“Rose.” 

“I’m sorry,” she apologized immediately, her eyes focused on the books and notes strewn across his desk. “Am I interrupting? I can come back another time...”

“No, no,” he assured her, closing his laptop and stacking everything else in what could pass for a semblance of order. “I was just wrapping something up.”

He set his thesis notes aside; God knew he wouldn’t be done with that anytime soon, but he didn’t want her to go. Not by a long shot. 

Rose smiled and came to sit in the chair in front of his desk, sliding her book bag to the floor. 

“Now,” he began, pulling out his notes. “What’s troubling you most?”

“All of it,” she admitted, with a sheepish grin.

“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.”

The next hour passed in a blur, much too quickly for Chris. He relished the opportunity to look at her with impunity, and did so - frequently - even as they backtracked enough to review the first couple weeks of class.

He was right; Rose was very bright, and with just a bit of help she started to right the ship. Most of her trouble seemed to be in organizing the material in ways that made sense to her. Like most artists, she was a visual learner, and he watched her sketch out a rough drawing of a spine cell in intricate detail, similar to what he’d seen her do in the lab. Once again, the result rivaled any professional textbook drawing he’d seen. She bit her tongue while she sketched, an unconscious habit that might kill him before long. 

“I should probably go,” Rose said, looking at her watch. “I need to make it back across campus in time for my next class.” 

He watched her as she packed up her notes. “This meets your science requirement, right? Why this module - if you don’t mind me asking? I’m not discouraging you, it just seems like Intro to Biology might have been a bit easier.” 

“Don’t laugh,” she said, biting her lip again. “I thought it might help with my sketches of the human body. Composition has been one of my weaker areas.” She shrugged and laughed nervously. “Bit naive of me, huh?” 

Chris tipped her notebook with a detailed picture of a cell’s axon and dendrites she’d sketched almost effortlessly when they’d touched on the subject, and nodded. “I’d say you have composition down pat, if this is any indication.” 

“See, that’s just it. This stuff is easy -- a cell, an ear, a deltoid muscle. There’s not a lot of feeling associated with them as standalone objects. I can draw this type of stuff with my eyes closed.” She caught his amused look. “Oh, sorry,” she smiled. 

“No reason to apologize for knowing your strengths. Go on.” He was intrigued. Gone was the hesitancy she’d showed when she first arrived. Rose was excited, confident, and _sexy_ talking about her work. 

“I’m good with the detail, but I struggle with putting it all together. Composition is all about arranging the elements in a way to express feeling. That’s what I need to work on. I guess I had hoped if I understood more about how the human body worked, I could get inside it and express it in _my_ work. If that makes sense.” She glanced down at her watch again. “Oh, shit...I mean, wow...I have to run. I’m so sorry, I do need to go. Thank you, you have no idea how much this helped.” 

“You’re welcome. When do you want to meet again?” 

Rose threw her stuff in her bag. “Um, after class on Thursday? That is, if you’re free?”

He felt the smile bloom across his face. 

_Off-limits_ , he reminded himself. 

_Sod off_ , answered another part of his brain. 

“See you then, Rose Tyler.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
_October 29, 2015_

Heavy with pint glasses, Rose’s tray wobbled but she steadied it with minimal spillage. Before she could pass the lagers, bitters, and ales to their proper places, a few of the members of the WCU rugby team helped themselves. Somewhere behind her a rowdy cheer and song started, picked up by the men in section twenty-seven. Soon the entire pub rocked with the happy refrains of the drunken West District Rugby Champions. 

Rose wiped a piece of hair out of her eyes as she headed back to the bar. There was a reason why she hated subbing on Thursday night shifts, preferring the other nights offered her. Thursday nights were rugby nights, and the WCU team always stopped at the Bad Wolf to either drown a loss or celebrate a win. Even in the off season, they found some obscure match on the telly to drink to. It wasn’t that the players had wandering hands and foul mouths -- although they did, they were generally a harmless lot. The bigger problem was that the WCU Rugby Team were notoriously bad tippers. 

To his credit, Ianto recognized his servers got the short end of the stick on Thursday nights, and Rose often found a few extra pounds in her cut when the shift ended. But sometimes it just wasn’t enough. 

The crowd was three people deep at the bar and Rose squeezed by to the computer in the corner to punch in the latest round of drinks. Her other sections needed attention and she tucked the pen behind her ear, ready to push her way through the drunken revelers, but Coach van Statten blocked her way. His breath wasn’t the only reason why she took a step back. Coach V was the biggest prat at WCU. If he hadn’t been such a brilliant coach -- revitalizing the university rugby program and winning the district or the regional championship for the past four years, she was sure van Statten would have been in jail for harassment. 

And tonight, he had his eyes on her. 

“Aren’t you rather pretty.” Coach V ran his eyes up and down Rose, lingering on her chest. 

“Um, excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Rose kept her voice steady. 

Coach V took a step closer. “Nah, my boys will be nursing their pints for a bit. Why don’t you and I get to know each other. I’m, of course, Coach V. You are?” 

“Gonna get back to work. Move.” Rose raised her voice, though no one else looked her way. 

“Feisty. That’s brilliant. I like feisty.” The coach pressed in and Rose lifted the tray as a barrier between them. Where the hell was Ianto?

“Excuse me, Coach V? Wow! It’s really you? I can’t believe it, I’m a huge fan…” 

A hand reached out from the crowd and tapped Coach V on the shoulder. The bleary-eyed lech ignored it, still ogling Rose. A bloke she vaguely recognized from her Anat/Phys class appeared over Coach V’s shoulder. He tapped again, still talking loudly into the man’s ear.

“I’m Adam Mitchell. Wow, my dad is going to flip when I tell him I ran into you. Especially since we’ve been arguing forever about you. See he -- my dad -- thinks that football is the future of this country but I’ve told him for years that Coach V is single-handedly changing that. Before long, rugby will be the British national sport. Am I right?” 

Coach V’s hatred of football was well-known across campus. He and the WCU football coach even had offices in different buildings on campus. Adam had cleverly managed to redirect the lecherous bastard’s attention. 

“Whas’ your name again? Andy?” Coach V clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder, leaning his weight on it. “You’re a bit of a dandy, aren’t ya? Look more like Little Lord Fauntleroy than someone who’d be a fan of the most manliest sport ever created. But c’mere and buy me a pint and we’ll chat about your dad.” 

Adam winked at Rose as he let a staggering Coach V lead him away. Rose heaved a sigh, lowering the tray. 

“Oi! Waitress!” the WCU boys beckoned her, apparently thirsty again, and Rose headed towards them on shaky legs. When she turned back to the bar, she caught Adam watching her and shot him a small smile. Adam’s rescue was unexpected, and she hated to admit it, a little sexy.

~*~O~*~

Ianto closed and locked the deadbolt on the door to the pub. Rose stood on tiptoes and placed the last clean glass on the shelf ready for use again tomorrow -- no, wait -- tonight, she corrected.

“Thanks for closing with me, Rose. You hungry? I could throw some chips in the fryer.” 

Rose grimaced at the thought of grease at one-thirty in the morning. “No, thanks. After serving them all night they’ve lost their appeal for a while.” 

“Hungry crowd tonight.” 

“And thirsty,” she added, with a final wipe down of the bar, enjoying the sheen in the dark polished wood. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about that wanker van Statten. He doesn’t usually drink with the team. Doesn’t think my pub is good enough for him, or so I’ve heard. I didn’t know he was here ‘til I saw him cornering you. I tried to get to you, but someone beat me to it.” He smiled at her. “Who was your white knight?” 

Rose shrugged. “Just a classmate. Adam Something. ” 

“Hmm,” Ianto nodded, pulling out the cash drawer and starting to count out the receipts. “Well you could use a little more ‘Adam’ in your life.” Rose didn’t say anything, just reached behind the top shelf liquor that no one drank and retrieved her bag. “Seriously, Rose,” Ianto pressed. “You deserve to date a nice guy.” 

“I’ve dated nice guys.” Ianto’s raised an eyebrow; having had multiple late night talks with Rose, he knew all about her miserable history with men. Rose corrected herself. “Well, Mickey was nice, at least.” 

“If you mean the safe, monotonous, footie-on-Saturday, roast-on-Sunday type of nice, sure. But, there’s more to you than that, Rose.” 

“Remind me not to take on the closing shift again if I’m gonna get love lectures. Especially from the likes of _you!_ ” Rose grinned and snapped her towel at her boss, who wasn’t much older than she was. “Don’t see _you_ out there in the field!” 

“I have very particular taste,” Ianto said. “Not that you don’t, just think your track record of Mickey and _Jimmy_ isn’t great.” He looked at her, his eyes clear and sincere. “I want to see you happy, Rose. He might not seem like Prince Charming, but a guy who will rescue you from a capital lech like van Statten may not be all bad.” He held up his hands. “Lecture over, I called you an uber. Here.” He handed Rose a wad of pounds, much thicker than usual. “Consider it hazard pay. You back tonight?” 

Rose shook her head. “No, not ‘til Monday.” She leaned over the bar and kissed Ianto’s cheek. “Thanks for the concern. See ya next week!” 

By the time the uber driver navigated the one-way campus streets, Rose could have already been at her flat, but Ianto refused to let anyone walk home after closing. She smiled at the thought. Ianto was the best kind of boss… he was thoughtful and cared about his employees. Rose felt lucky to have him. 

It had rained sometime during her shift, and the street lamps reflected off the standing puddles. Only a few people were out, stumbling home from the locals or hurrying back from the libraries. As the car bumped and splashed along, Rose thought about what Ianto said. 

Her past romantic choices had been less than stellar. Flashy and exciting, Jimmy Stone had dazzled her for almost a year. His lies and insults were small at first, but grew more elaborate and cutting over time. It wasn’t until this past summer that she’d finally managed to pay off the debts he’d saddled her with when he dumped her three years ago. Hooking up with Mickey, her childhood friend from the Estate, was more about safety than love. He was the antithesis of Jimmy: predictable, steady, and, yes, a little boring. 

Maybe she _should_ talk to Adam, get to know him a little. He’d saved her, after all; the least she could do was have a conversation with him. Who knew? It might turn into more. Maybe Ianto was right and it was time she took another shot.

But it wasn’t Adam that came to mind as the car slowed to a stop in front of her building. After only a handful of tutoring sessions with Chris, his blue eyes clouded her thoughts and drove her to distraction even more than they had when she was just a student in class. Her infatuation was growing stronger. She was already looking forward to their next class and wondered if he’d make a surprise visit to lab later today as he was sometimes known to do. 

Rose took the stairs two at a time to her flat.

~*~O~*~

“I think you have an admirer.” Rose lifted her head off her arm and sat up straight. Craig was giving her a knowing smirk. “Or maybe I do?” His look morphed into one of concern, and Rose gave him a drowsy smile.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Adam Mitchell. Can’t stop looking over here.” 

“Oh.” Rose said, her face falling and disappointment lacing her voice. “He did me a favor last night at the pub, that’s all.” 

“What _kind_ of favor?” Craig asked with a lewd grin. Rose rolled her eyes. “Is that why you’re so tired and look like shit; late night at the pub?” 

“Thanks ever so. And, yes, I worked closing. My arms are killing me from carrying trays overloaded with pints for eight hours straight. And then I couldn’t get to sleep for some reason. This renal lab isn’t helping, it’s torture.” 

A large beaker sat on the lab bench, between them, a dialysis bag free-floating. For the past fifteen minutes they had been waiting and watching, with another twenty to go. When the timer went off they were supposed to measure the water absorption rate, but for now all they did was wait. Chin on her hand, Rose stared at the beaker, hoping to speed up the osmosis process through sheer willpower. Deciding that wasn’t working, she pulled her chin off of her hand and laid it directly on the lab table, getting a better look from another angle. Craig stared back at her from the other side, his chubby face distorted by the water. The black stone lab bench was warm under her chin and she turned her head, resting her cheek on the hard surface. 

A combination of beeping and warm pressure on her back jolted her awake. Craig was gone, but someone was standing next to her, a hand resting on her right shoulder blade gently. 

“Are you alright?” Chris asked, a wrinkle between his brow as he stared at her. 

“Shit,” she muttered. “I’m so sorry, I must have fallen asleep.” She messed around with the timer, trying to find the off button, tempted to hurl it across the room to silence the incessant noise. 

She scowled. _Where the hell was Craig? Why did he let her fall asleep_?

Rose shivered as Chris’ hand dropped from her shoulder blade.

“Yeah, noticed that. You feel alright? Not everyday someone is out cold on the lab bench.” His lip quirked up at the corner. “They weren’t built for comfort, you know.” 

The timer finally shut up and Rose grabbed a pair of tongs. On the second try she hooked the dialysis bag and dragged it out and over to the scale.

“You need to blot the bag first.” 

“What?” Rose said, flustered. 

“The bag, you need to dry it before you weigh it or the weight will be wrong.” 

“Right, sorry.” Rose grabbed a towel and patted it dry. “Long night, not really firing on all cylinders this morning.” 

“Afternoon,” he replied, and Rose looked up, noticing his lips were pulled tight and the wrinkle in his brow had returned. 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s afternoon, not morning.” 

“Right.” She bit her tongue, hoping it would stop her from saying any more stupid things. 

“Hey.” Craig bounded up to them, “What’d I miss?” 

“Everything,” Rose complained. “Where were you?” 

Craig flushed and squirmed. “It’s all this wet stuff. Made me have to go to the loo. Sorry.” 

Chris nodded and wandered away without saying anything more. Rose watched and wondered at his expression, and even more at the tingling sensation that lingered on the back of her shoulder from his touch.

~*~O~*~

For the last half mile, the air burned Chris’ lungs and his muscles screamed in protest. Running early on the weekends had its benefits; the streets had fewer shoppers and tourists to dodge. When the alarm went off this morning, he’d thrown on his trainers and gear and headed to Hyde Park, stopping to catch his breath at the Boy and Dolphin fountain, as usual. Few visitors bothered to read the fountain’s plaque, or knew that it was gifted to London in 1862 from Gallifrey -- Chris’ great-grandmother actually. Chris liked the idea that hidden in plain sight was a tiny bit of his family’s history. He brushed his fingers along the fountain’s edge before bending over to stretch his calf muscles.

The fountain had been in its current location for twenty-odd years, and Chris had been running there for almost ten of those, but it was the first time that he took a closer look around. The fountain was in the Rose Garden. There was nothing in bloom this time of year, of course, but he knew that in the summer, the gardens were spectacular. Full of color and beauty. 

Not unlike another Rose that Chris knew. 

He started running home, needing the pace to help sort out his thoughts. Finding Rose asleep on the lab bench yesterday stirred him. First he thought that something might be wrong; she might be sick. When she assured him it was not the case, but rather a night out, his concern had turned to something else. Something he wasn’t ready to name. 

He wasn’t the only one who admired her. Rose was beautiful and he’d watched, helplessly from the front of the classroom, as several of her _prettier_ male classmates approached her for some reason or another. Adam Mitchell, a self-proclaimed boy-genius, had been the latest to be eyeing her up, maneuvering his seat for better position, closer to her. Something about Adam bothered him, not merely their common interest in Rose. It was insulting to watch him circle her, like she was some type of carrion. 

Insulting and infuriating. 

Adam might have been responsible for her “long night” and he didn’t know what caused him to pump his legs harder -- that she might be with another man, or that he cared so much if she was. Either option did not bode well for the future of his heart.

~*~O~*~

As soon as he saw the first email in his inbox on Thursday morning, Chris’ blood pressure rose. The subject ‘Wilfred’ stopped his heart. His hand shook when he clicked on it, fear turning to relief then to rage.

_Highness,_  
_There have been several incidents in the past few days where the Duke has taken exception to Wilfred’s behavior. Most of the infractions -- were they even real -- would be minor, except today he accused Wilfred of pilfering the silver, something you and I both know is ludicrous. However, Wilfred fears the Duke will dismiss him by week’s end, and from what I’ve seen, I believe his fears are justified. What shall I do?_  
_~Jack_

Chris swore out loud and rubbed his hands across his eyes, wishing it would erase what he just read. His uncle was a bastard, plain and simple. Wilfred being a thief was as likely as Chris becoming King. No one was more loyal to the Foreman family than Wilf, not even some of its blood members. Wilf deserved more than trumped up charges and a kick out the door for fifty years of unwavering dedication. 

But it was partly because of his dedication that Wilf had no other family, and nowhere else to go. Chris wished that he had been able to bring his father’s valet with him, just to save him from the vitriol Saxon was capable of spewing. But a lecturer having a valet would be more than a little suspicious, and he couldn’t risk the danger to the carefully-constructed identity he’d taken on. 

He also couldn’t step in and save Wilfred from hundreds of miles away.

Time for a trip to Gallifrey.

He knew it was overdue. The cautious optimism of Jack’s emails earlier this fall had eroded week by week. Chris had ignored them up until now. But this was personal.

Scowling and preoccupied, he stormed down the corridor to the lecture hall. Homecoming was coming up, and several signs hung in the hallway that bore the WCU’s colors of purple and gold - coincidentally the same colors that represented Saxon’s house, Oakdown. The sight just compounded his discomfort and anger.

He shrugged out of his jacket as the students arrived. Out of habit, his eyes automatically sought out Rose in her usual seat. She caught his eye and smiled, soothing some of the anger that Jack’s email had stirred. 

Then Adam Mitchell came in and stepped sideways through the seats on Rose’s row, taking the desk right next to her.

Good feeling gone. 

“Right, you lot, we’re going to be discussing the nervous system this week. Turn to page 394 in your textbook.”

Most of the students did as instructed, but Chris glanced up to find Adam leaning over, talking to Rose. She didn’t look exactly thrilled by his attention, but that didn’t register. Hot fury and that same unnameable emotion roiled within him. 

“Adam Mitchell.”

Adam’s head snapped up. “Yes?”

“Would you mind not pulling my students while I’m lecturing, please?”

He caught a glimpse of Rose’s shocked expression before he cut his eyes back to Adam.

“I… I wasn’t…”

“You were,” Chris fairly growled. “And I’d appreciate it if you did it on your own time, not during my lecture.”

 _Actually, I’d appreciate it if you’d fuck right off and leave Rose alone_.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Chris glowered at him for the use of the word ‘sir’, and Adam shrank back into his seat, studiously not looking at Rose. 

“Right,” he began. “Now that that’s sorted, let’s talk about the nervous system.”

He lectured for twenty minutes but his emotions swirled, caught between worry about Wilfred and fury over Adam and Rose. It seemed that his initial thoughts about Rose being out late with a boyfriend were spot on. And it appeared that Adam Mitchell was the lucky man. 

He snapped at a young man when he mispronounced ‘hippocampus’, for no other reason than he felt like it.

A girl on the first row, one of the ones who hung around after class every day, raised her hand. He sighed, not really interested in what she had to say, but unable to ignore her.

“Yes, Laurel?”

“Are you alright? You’re usually more… I dunno. Fun.”

Chris’ eyes darted up to Adam and he let the anger bubble up in him again. “You lot keep flirting with your girlfriends and ignoring my lectures. You’ll see how much fun I am.”

Laurel gasped, and several other students looked back and forth amongst themselves. Chris’ eyes darted up to Rose to see her face flushed as she bent to scribble something in her notes with more force than usual.

 _Well_ , he thought. _There’s the confirmation for that_.

He went on, talking about the medulla oblongata.

~*~O~*~

Usually, Rose practically skipped to her tutoring sessions. Today she dragged her feet there, still fuming at the scene in class earlier. Adam had leaned over to ask her something - she didn’t know what - when Chris had called him out in front of the entire class. By extension, he had called _her_ out, humiliating her. Rose had no interest in Adam whatsoever. Especially after bumping into him over the weekend and finding him the complete opposite of what she wanted in a bloke.

She’d begun to think she wanted someone like Chris. But after his strange outburst, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe _Chris_ wasn’t exactly what she thought he was either.

She had considered bailing on their one-on-one this afternoon, but decided at the last moment to go. Regardless of how she may or may not feel about him, her mark was more important, and Chris’ help necessary to get her first. 

Rose arrived at two and knocked.

“Come in,” Chris snapped, and her eyes widened - then narrowed - at his gruff tone. She’d never heard him like that; this wasn’t a good start. 

Taking a deep breath, she entered.

Chris got to his feet, holding up his hand to stop her. “I’m sorry, this is a bad time.”

Rose blinked. “But this is our usual time. I’m not early or late, am I?”

“No. But I have to cancel. Maybe your boyfriend could help you out this afternoon,” he bit out.

Rose ground her teeth. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Chris crossed his arms and scoffed. “Could have fooled me.”

“He’s _not_ ,” Rose said, more fiercely this time. “He got me out of a tight spot last Thursday night and thought that gave him the right to try to pull me. But he’s self-important and smarmy and I’m not remotely interested.”

Was it a trick of the light, or did Chris’ face soften just a bit?

“Ah. Well,” he said, his tone suddenly different, looking down at his desk. “I’m sorry, but I _do_ have to cancel. There’s a...situation that needs my attention. I waited here to tell you about it before I left.”

“Oh.” Her anger sputtered out. Despite her reluctance to come today, Chris seemed to be back to his usual self, and she was suddenly sad that their time was cancelled. “I understand.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll make it up to you Tuesday.”

“No problem,” Rose mumbled. Then she felt burst of insanity or bravery - she wasn’t sure which - and pulled out a notepad, grabbing a pen from his desk and jotting down her mobile number. She tore off the paper and handed it to him. “Here. If you ever have to cancel again, just give me a call or send me a text. That way, you’re not stuck waiting around your office for me to show up.”

For a split second, Rose panicked. Chris stared down at the paper, but didn’t take it. When he finally did, the tips of his fingers brushed hers, sending a jolt up her arm and making her heart stutter from its typically steady rhythm. 

From the wide-eyed look on his face, he’d felt it, too.

Rose pulled her hand back quickly as if she’d been burned, her eyes still on Chris’ face. With a quick peek at the number, he flashed her the wide grin she’d gotten used to seeing on his face. “Tell you what,” he said, pulling out his own mobile and tapping on it. “How about I send you a text right now; that way you’ll have my number as well.”

Rose put her tongue between her teeth. “I’d like that.”

Her mobile beeped in her hand, and she looked down to see the message there. 

_Sorry again about cancelling today_.

His eyes were soft when she looked up at him. “It’s no problem, really. You go take care of your… situation, and I’ll see you Tuesday, yeah?”

“Sounds good. Take care, Rose Tyler. ”

“You too, Chris.”

Rose left his office feeling much lighter than she had when she'd gone in.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
 _November 5, 2015_

High above northern Europe, Chris tapped his foot against the floor of the jet. The anger that Rose had soothed with her forgiving smile had flared again right after take-off. God, he’d been an idiot in lecture earlier, letting his emotions overtake his common sense. He hadn’t remembered feeling that out of control since his mother died, when, in a desperate moment of grief, he had swept an entire set of crystal off the table, turning the dining room floor into a mosaic of shattered glass. 

If he hadn’t been so horrified by his actions this afternoon, the absurdity of feeling jealous over a boy like Adam Mitchell would have been comical. But he wasn’t laughing. 

When the jet landed, a grim Jack met him at the bottom of the stairs, and the two shook hands. This was not how either of them had expected to be reunited. A single black SUV stood idling, waiting to take them back to the palace.

“Wilfred has been in his apartments most of the day; I insisted he stay out of the Duke’s sight. Do you want to see him first?”

Chris shook his head. “Take me to my uncle first.”

“Okay, plan of attack, you use the element of surprise, go face-to-face. I can have...” 

“Excuse me. Who’s in charge?” 

“Sorry, your highness. Awaiting orders.” Jack sat up straight as the silence spread through the car. “Um. What _is_ your plan?” 

“No clue. Where is he?” 

“At a _state_ dinner.” 

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Well, I guess it’s time for the Prince Regent to make an appearance.” 

As he climbed out of the car, nodding to the footman holding the door, Chris overheard Jack mutter. 

“About time.”

~*~O~*~

Music blared from the Royal Dining Room, a deep bass that shook Chris’ teeth and the crystals in the foyer chandelier. A footman straightened in shock at the sudden appearance of the Prince.

“Highness, the Duke wasn’t expecting you. Shall I announce you?” 

Chris gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, but there’ll be no need.” 

With a firm push, the gilded double doors swung inward, and a half-dozen heads turned in his direction. Chris recognized Lady Cassandra O’Brien, a low-level but loud-mouthed Countess, and Lucy Cole, a doe-eyed young woman from a minor Gallifreyan house. Both ladies were thoroughly pissed -- their eyes half-closed, their dresses half-on. Each gripped one of his uncle’s arms as if considering a royal tug-of-war. Between the former beauties, at the head of the table, lounged Duke Harold Saxon. Chris stared at his uncle’s open tuxedo jacket, loose bow tie, and blood-red waistcoat. A range of emotions flew over Saxon’s face: surprise and rage quickly smoothing to a forced smile. 

“Your Highness, so good to see you. And what a pleasant surprise for our guests. Say hello to Lady…” 

“Hello.” Chris waved, then added, “And goodbye.” He approached an unknown man asleep at the end of the table, his face rolling dangerously close to his unfinished dessert. With two hands, Chris pulled the chair back, and the man slumped to the floor in an ungracious heap, awake and sputtering. 

“Christoph!” Saxon yelled as Chris moved to the next heavy-set guest, who jumped up before the leather-clad prince could reach him. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt such an elegant state dinner,” Chris said in a calm voice as he tipped over another drunken guest -- this one an Earl. “I can tell that critical matters were discussed here tonight, what between the Cristal Champagne, Cuban cigars, and the vintage port. Not to mention other illicit materials.” He nodded toward a powder-streaked mirror in front of his uncle’s place. “Party’s over, Uncle.” 

The guests scrambled to their feet, passing hurried and frightened looks between uncle and nephew. Their allegiance should have been obvious, at least to Chris, but their hesitation spoke volumes. Saxon gave a slight nod, and the guests stumbled out the door. Both Lucy and Cassandra tried to kiss the Duke goodbye, but Chris could tell his uncle’s control was slipping when he pushed them both away severely. 

The door shut, and Chris stood in the center of the room, arms crossed. He glared down his nose at his uncle. 

“Remember, Uncle,” he said, voice taking on a dangerous tone that reminded him of his mother for some reason. “You serve at the pleasure of the Prince Regent. And right now, he’s not pleased.” Saxon opened his mouth, but Chris raised his voice and talked over him. “You’re going to sit down and listen very carefully.”

~*~O~*~

An hour later his uncle had slithered off, threatened with banishment or worse if there was a repeat of tonight’s illicit behavior. Exhausted, Chris knew he had one more stop before he could retire, and headed to the lower level of the palace. When Wilfred’s door opened, his face was like a warm cup of tea after a cold, damp London day -- soothing and much-needed. Chris hadn’t realized how much he had missed the old man.

“Your Highness, you shouldn’t be down here!” Wilfred said as he pulled his dressing gown closed and smoothed his wild thatch of white hair. 

Chris smiled. “Can I come in, Wilf?” 

He saw his valet swallow, but nod. Chris stepped around him and back in time. It had been almost thirty years since he’d been in Wilfred’s apartment. For months after his father died, Chris spent hours in Wilfred’s rocker, pulled close to the fireplace, reading. Wilfred had always sat at the table working on something, yet available to answer any of the young prince’s questions. Chris couldn’t quite remember when those nights had ended, only that as his grief had faded, the hours spent at Wilfred’s hearth had, too. 

It was only now, with an adult’s perception, that he realized Wilfred had given up the warmest seat in the apartment that winter to a heart-sick young boy. Chris’ heart clenched. 

“Would you like some tea, Highness?” 

“No, Wilfred. Can we sit?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a chair from the table and dragged it over to the hearth and sat, waving Wilfred to the rocker. 

Wilfred hid his surprise and sat across from him. “Highness, I hope you aren’t here because of what happened with His Grace. I’d hate to think you interrupted your studies for the likes of an old man.” 

“Wilfred, there isn’t anything I _wouldn’t_ do for the likes of you. You’re the only family I have left.” 

The old man’s mouth opened and shut, speechless. Instead, he looked around his meager apartment. 

“It hasn’t changed much since you were here last. You were so young when he died, and I didn’t know what to do. But you seemed calmer here than in the residence those first few months. To lose your father, and at such a young age, I just... can’t imagine what you went through.” Wilfred sat up straight and took a breath. “But know this, Highness, I’d be proud to see you happily married, like your father, ruling together with your queen…”

Chris turned away, his chest burning like he’d just sprinted in the frigid winter air. “I’d be proud,” he said, his eyes full. 

Wilfred’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Of what, Highness?” 

“If you were my dad.” 

Wilfred waved his words away, giving Chris a moment of composure. “Highness, you know I have dedicated my life to the Royal family, but if it would be easier if I stepped aside, I…”

Chris grabbed Wilfred’s hands and squeezed them until he got the old man’s attention. “Wilfred, as long as I have breath in my body, you will have a home in the palace with me. Do you understand?” 

Wilfred’s silent nod was all he needed.

~*~O~*~

The steps up the royal staircase seemed unbearably long. Wilfred had insisted he stay for a drink, not his initial offer of tea, but a healthy tumbler of rich, earthy whiskey. The amber-colored liquid, of course, reminded him of Rose’s eyes, and he savored each sip.

At the door Chris paused, hoping that just this once, he’d find no one on the other side. Jack sat waiting for him, his feet propped up on the table, and irritation hit him full on, coloring his tone. 

“So is it like this a lot?” 

Jack, thankfully, didn’t pretend ignorance. “Typically once a week. Sometimes twice.” 

“And you never mentioned.” 

“Didn’t think it would make a difference. I’ve made mention in my updates that the Duke has been engaging in some unsavory behavior. I left it up to your moral compass to determine if that was enough to bring you home. What’s going on with you? I send you notes on the state of the kingdom and get nothing back: no guidance, sometimes not even a response. You’re so preoccupied in London that if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a secret girl.” Chris glared down at him, arms tight across his body. “You do, don’t you?” Chris still didn’t answer, and Jack sighed. “Just have her and be done with it, Christoph.”

Chris whirled around. “If you ever refer to her in such a disrespectful way again, I’ll expel you from the palace.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Oh, so that’s how it is,” he commented, leaning back in his seat. “You’ve fallen for her.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Jack.”

“Forget her,” Jack snapped. “You have a lengthy list of candidates for marriage, yet you’ve set your cap for some...some… _commoner_?”

Chris boiled with anger. Rose may not be of noble birth, but she was far from common. The absolute _nerve_ of Jack to speak about her in such a way.

The fact that Jack had accused him of falling for her didn’t escape him. Nor did his own lack of denial. But he couldn’t think about that right now; there were other situations that needed his attention.

His long stride took him across the room and back. “Is the view good from the cheap seats, Jack? You tell me what I should and shouldn’t do; who I can and can’t be with; remind me of my duty, when all the while you come and go as you please…” 

Jack jumped out of his chair and met Chris mid-stride. 

“What the _hell_ do you think I’ve been doing the past ten years while you’ve been in London? With all due respect, _your Highness_ , you can be a real bastard sometimes. Do you think this has been fun for me? Do you think allowing you the privacy and ability to disappear from Gallifrey for ten months out of the year is _easy_? ‘Come and go as I please’?” Jack laughed humorlessly and paced the room, arms waving. “You have no idea what I’ve given up for you! What I wouldn’t do to take your place, because you know what? I wouldn’t give a shit. About any of it! I’d run through that bridal list of yours and take every girl, and her brother, on it out for a spin! I wouldn’t worry about being stuck with gorgeous, manipulative Reinette because I’d be the _Prince_ , and could do whatever, and whoever, the hell I want on the side.” Jack took a breath and his voice dropped. “But I’m not the prince. I’m just Jack.” 

The men stood glaring at each other, but Chris felt his resolve slip. As with Wilfred and the rocker, he’d never taken the time to see what had been done for him. He owed Jack an apology -- and maybe an explanation. He sat down, hoping Jack would follow suit. 

“I would give it all up if I could, Jack, and I know that’s infuriating to you. To a lot of people.” He ran his hand over his jaw. “I want...I want what my parents had. What I remember of what they had, at least. Their happiness was palpable, you know?” Jack shook his head, and Chris remembered that the Captain had never met his father, having joined the Palace Guard ten years after Thomas’ death. “My father walked my mother to dinner every night, holding her hand. I used to hear my mother humming before any of the Palace Balls -- and there used to be many of them back then -- getting ready to dance all night with my father. In the summer, I’d see him out in the garden cutting roses for _his queen_ , and personally placing one on her plate before every meal.” 

He met Jack’s pale face. “My mother had our rose gardens ripped out after he died. There were never any flowers at dinners after that; she couldn’t stand knowing it wasn’t him who placed them there.” 

“Chris, I didn’t know…” 

“Well, I’m not exactly an open book.” 

Jack coughed ‘understatement’ and Chris gave him a sad smile. 

“The idea of marrying for convenience or tradition, and not for love, rips me to shreds. I’ll do it if I have to, I just need more time. Can you give me that?”

~*~O~*~

White billows of breath covered his face as he sprinted for the palace. The elevation was higher here than in London, and he felt it in his calves as they strained going up the last hill. He had pushed his pace, enjoying the familiar feel of garden paths and riverfront trails underneath his feet. Gallifrey was where he first developed his passion for running, and no run ever felt quite so right as at home.

 _Home_.

Even after ten years of essentially living abroad, he still considered Gallifrey home. As much as he moaned and groaned about it, if he never returned, he’d feel its absence as keenly as if the stars went out from the sky. 

The palace terrace loomed up ahead, but knowing his uncle’s schedule, Chris looped around to the front. He wasn’t ready for another confrontation so early, especially when the air and exercise had put him in a good mood. He needed a shower and a cup of tea, first. A footman nodded at him as he entered the front door, shedding layers of sweaty clothes as he bounded up the stairs. Stripped to the waist, he almost knocked Reinette over at the top. 

“Christoph!” Reinette’s eyes widened, then dropped to his chest, following the matted chest hairs as they trailed low. “So nice to see you, your Highness.” 

_So much for the endorphin high_.

“Reinette,” Chris greeted. “As you can see, I am in no position to receive you. If you would like to wait downstairs, I am sure Wilfred can serve some tea.” 

She waved a bejeweled hand. “I do not mind casual, Christoph. At times I prefer it.” Her eyes strayed again, and Chris imagined Reinette would fit in well with his Anat/Phys students who batted their eyelashes and posed in the front row. 

He brushed by her and passed into the residence, unsurprised when Reinette was one step behind him. 

“I was thrilled to hear you had come home for the weekend. Thought maybe some of the things I said in my letters might have persuaded you to return.” 

Chris winced. A stack of perfume-laced letters sat unopened in a pile on his sideboard. He popped open a bottle of water and took a long drink. “No. I had some business with my uncle, that is all.” 

Reinette pouted, a look that Chris knew usually got her whatever she wanted. He turned his back and grabbed a bar towel to wipe his face. 

“How is London? Are you any closer to finishing your degree?” she asked. 

“Things are going well, thank you. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to shower.” He tossed the towel on the bar and made to brush by her. 

“Christoph.” Reinette blocked his path with her body, laying a staying hand on his sweaty forearm. Unlike the spark that flew at the briefest touch he shared with Rose, Chris felt nothing under Reinette’s perfectly manicured hand.

“Why do you not want me?” He met her eyes, not that different from his own, although hers were filled with tears while his were cold, distant, stormy.

“Don’t.” 

“Why, Christoph? The last time you were here, you tossed me aside like a broken clock that you had no more use for. And then, after I bared so much of myself - my very soul - in those letters, I hear nothing from you.” Chris swallowed and turned away, guilt-ridden. 

“Reinette, we are strangers to one another…” he began, measuring his words carefully.

“Strangers? How could you be a stranger to me? I have known you since I was seven years old.” 

“That’s true, but there’s a difference between growing up in the general vicinity of someone and _knowing_ them. If we got to know one another better, you might not even like me. ” 

“But I might. And that’s a chance I would like to take. If you will let me.” 

She brushed her fingers across his cheek, and he closed his eyes just for a moment, imagining another set of fingertips on his face, searing his skin with her paint-stained touch. Desire welled up in him, an ache stronger than anything he’d known and he almost swayed. He braced a hand on the bar and opened his eyes, desperate to find amber ones looking at him with the same want that he knew colored his own.

Reinette’s ice-blue eyes greeted him, her lips parted in surprise at his reaction. 

Chris sighed and covered her hand with his, still left unsteady by the intensity of Rose’s image. He removed her hand and placed a kiss on the back before stepping around her. The door to his private rooms locked behind him, and he leaned against it, wishing it were Tuesday already.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this awesome fanart ten-and-a-Rose/promised you forever made for us!!  
> 

Chapter 8  
_November 9, 2015_

Rose left the art building after her Installation class and headed back to her flat. The past few hours had been spent reviewing her mock art show -- the class’ capstone project -- with her lecturer. She had a lot more work to do, but felt encouraged by his comments on the marked improvement he’d seen in her figure drawing over the course of the term. It seemed late night painting sessions and her choice to take Anat/Phys was paying off. She made a mental note to tell Chris - and thank him. 

Her mobile buzzed in her pocket, and she shifted her bag to dig it out. Her mum’s smiling face flashed on the screen, and Rose smiled as she swiped the screen to answer. 

“Mum! Hi!”

“Well, don’t you sound chipper?” Jackie said with a smile clear in her voice. 

“Yep! Top of the world.”

Jackie chuckled through the line. “Good. Classes going alright, then?”

“Uni is fine,” Rose answered. “Dr. Penn says my composition is improving, he just told me.”

“That’s good. Still working at that pub?”

“The Bad Wolf? Yeah. Mondays and Wednesdays, plus whatever other shifts I can pick up.”

“Ready to come home and go to beauty school?”

Rose snorted as she walked to the zebra crossing. “Not likely, Mum.”

“You should think about it, Rose,” her mother said, sounding a little put out. “You could go to beauty school and then, if you really wanted, go back to Uni...”

“But I’m almost done with Uni, Mum.”

“...When that fancy art degree leaves you with no job, you’ll have something to fall back on.”

It was sound logic, but Rose wasn’t interested. 

“I don’t want to argue, Mum,” Rose said tiredly as she tucked the mobile between her ear and shoulder, pulling out her key to the flat. “We’ve been over this.”

“Well, I still think -”

Rose changed the subject. “How’s Howard, then? Still seeing him?”

“Oh, no. He had a wandering eye, that one did.”

She sat her bookbag on the kitchen table and went to the couch, leaning against the arm and tucking her legs underneath her, settling in. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mum. I know you liked him.”

“Shame, too,” Jackie went on. “That man was hung like a yak.”

Rose sputtered. “ _Mum_!”

“Well? He was.”

She shook her head and steered the conversation away from her mum’s many boyfriends. They chattered about everything and nothing until Jackie dropped the question she’d known was coming.

“So when are you going to meet a nice boy and settle down, Rose?”

She sighed. It had only been a matter of time before her mother asked - she always did - and she was getting used to it. She waited a beat for the other shoe to drop. It always did.

“You’re not getting any younger, you know,” her mother chided through the phone.

Boom. There it was.

“M’only 24, Mum.”

“I was married, a mother, and widowed by twenty-four.”

Rose’s tone was chilly but tired. “I hope you’ll understand if I’m not keen on following in _those_ particular footsteps, especially that last.”

“You could always come back home and take up with Mickey again. He’s a good bloke with a good stable job down at the garage…”

Rose sat the mobile down on her leg, pulled one of the throw pillows to her face and screamed. When she was done, she calmly put the pillow back in its place and picked the mobile back up. Her mum was still going. 

“...And I would be near at hand if you ever needed me to, you know, babysit or something.”

“Mum,” Rose warned, “I’m going to ring off if you don’t change the subject right now.”

Jackie huffed. “Well alright. I only want what’s best for you, Rose.”

“I know Mum, and I love you for it. How’s Mo?”

Her mother chattered happily about her cousin Mo for a bit while Rose picked her nails, saying ‘yeah’ and ‘uh-huh’ at what she hoped were appropriate intervals while she spaced out for a bit. 

Her mum caught her attention again, though, when she asked, “When are you coming to tea again? How’s Sunday?”

Rose hesitated. She missed her mum and wanted to see her. But she did _not_ want to be nagged for two hours on a perfectly lovely afternoon, and that always seemed to go hand-in-hand with a visit to her mother.

Measuring her options, she finally said, “Alright, Mum. But _only_ if you promise not to hound me about Uni or men or… just don’t hound me, yeah?”

“I don’t hound you!”

She rolled her eyes, even if her mum couldn’t see it. “Yeah, you do.”

“Well, it’s only because I love you.”

“I know, Mum. I love you, too.”

“See you Sunday?”

Rose couldn’t have said no if she tried in the face of her Mum’s hopeful tone. She sighed. 

“Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“Great! I’ll let Mickey know. Ta!”

Dead air greeted her when she called her mum’s name into the mouthpiece, and she swore. _Great_. Now she had an afternoon with Mickey to look forward to. 

Rose dropped her head into her hands and groaned. This was not her idea of a relaxing time.

~*~O~*~

Tuesdays and Thursdays were quickly becoming Rose’s favorite days of the week.

After the first week of tutoring, the sessions continued to be thrilling and confusing. Things felt a little more dangerous each time, like she was venturing further out on a frozen lake, testing it to see if it would hold her weight. Pay Chris a compliment -- take one step forward. Find out a personal tidbit -- two steps more. Watching as the safety of shore disappeared from view. 

And then there were days like today, when she thought she’d crash through the ice completely. Do something she might regret. Or at least, something _he_ might regret. 

They had been reviewing the twelve pairs of cranial nerves -- something Rose had botched up royally on the midterm -- and had come to the optic nerve. For close to fifteen minutes, she’d been forced to look into his crystalline blue eyes without showing any sign of distress as he discussed the various parts and functions. 

“The white outer surface of the eye is called the sclera. If you don’t get enough sleep at night, this can become irritated, and it’s the reason so many of my students have bloodshot eyes. Well, that and all the drinking you lot like to do whether you have classes in the morning or not.”

His grin was lazy and knowing and Rose nodded, encouraging him.

He continued, and Rose was sure that it was all very interesting, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything besides keeping her breathing calm. She was sure Chris could tell her the finer points of what caused _that_ as well, but she would die of mortification if _her lecturer_ found out just how much he affected her. 

She thought she might be imagining it, but his eyes actually looked hooded as they gazed down at her own.

“Rose?”

“Hmm?”

“Seems I lost you there for a minute.”

“No, not at all.” Rose chewed on her lip nervously, hoping she hadn’t been caught out. “You were talkin’ about the sclera and how it gets red. But why does it get red?”

“Good question. Heavy drinking causes the blood vessels in your eyes to dilate, become more pronounced. Have a few pints at the local, poof -- there are the results in the mirror the next morning. When your eyes get too dry - when the tear ducts fail to keep the eyes as moist as they should be - your eyes will become bloodshot as a result. If you’re having an allergic reaction, your eyes get red because your bloodstream is being flushed with the histamine that’s released as an anti-inflammatory. Multiple diseases and conditions can cause your eye to become red, including conjunctivitis or ‘pink eye’. Got it?”

Rose nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled down at her again. “Great, let’s move on to the iris.”

Rose once again found herself lost in the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had ever seen as he explained the iris and its function. Was there anything about this man that wasn’t appealing? Even his age, which she knew to be quite a bit older than hers, held considerable appeal, given her disappointment in men her own age. 

“Eye color, right?”

“Yep! But the iris also controls the size of your pupils as well. The pupils are the ‘holes’ that allow light to pass through to the retina. They have…”

“...both form and function,” Rose interrupted. “Like a window in a painting that’s there for aesthetics, but also to create changes in light in the setting.”

Chris’ smile widened. “Knew you were clever, Rose Tyler.” 

Rose matched his smile, reeling with how the words _clever_ and _Rose Tyler_ sounded from his mouth. This brilliant, _beautiful_ man actually thought she, Rose Tyler from the Powell Estates, was _clever_. 

And was it her imagination, or did his face seem to glow when he smiled at her? She couldn’t remember seeing that look when he spoke to the girls who loitered after class. 

Could Amy be right? Could he actually _like_ her? The idea that this crush she was harboring might be requited was terrifying. 

_She was doomed_.

~*~O~*~

_He was doomed_.

Probably from as far back as the day he met her. But most definitely by the time he had agreed to tutor her. 

One hour, twice a week, seemed both too much and yet not enough to spend utterly focused on one Rose Tyler. He supposed it was true, he _was_ doing her a favor by tutoring her, but it wasn’t just altruism driving him. When she smiled, or turned those amber eyes on him, he lost his train of thought -- and for him, that was remarkable. Rose was so far above the lot who hounded him after every class, in beauty, intellect, and inquisitiveness. She was in a class by herself. 

Most sessions involved only one or two ‘lost’ moments, when he drifted into incoherence, but today’s topic had proven more difficult. He reasoned his more personal approach to discussing the optic nerve made him a better teacher.

Who was he kidding? He just wanted to gaze into Rose Tyler’s eyes. 

Twice a week, there was no Gallifrey or looming deadline. Each Tuesday and Thursday, when she came into his office the persona of scholar and university lecturer Chris Foreman that he’d worked so hard to perfect was the only one that mattered. 

He’d never admit it to Donna, but he was beginning to enjoy his stint as _The Doctor_ as well. As Prince Christoph of Gallifrey, he had spent his life weighing and watching every word. A certain freedom came with being _The Doctor_. Tuesdays and Thursdays were quickly becoming his favorite days of the week.

~*~O~*~

Amy was out again, ostensibly at a study group, but Rose had a hunch that the study group either included Rory or ended up with Amy meeting Rory.

Rose sat at her desk, art tablet and charcoals spread in front of her. Even if her mark wasn’t stellar, she _was_ learning a lot in Anat/Phys, and even more from Chris’ tutoring. She had started applying what she was learning to her art. She nibbled her thumb for a minute before it occurred to her that it was probably time for the Doctor’s show, and she reached over to her clock radio to turn it on. 

His silken voice filled her room, and she couldn’t help the smile when she turned back to her desk, picking up her charcoal and starting to draw. 

The Doctor talked about the murmurings he’d been hearing about Great Britain splitting from the EU, and discussed why it would be a bad idea. Rose tuned most of it out, concentrating on sketching. 

“ _Well, it’s time for my required song. This one is dedicated to Her, the girl who keeps brightening my days and doesn’t even know it_.”

A bass beat started, and Rose recognized the song as one she’d heard on the radio a lot when she was younger. The singer sang about a lovely lady and his crush on her. Rose smiled wistfully, thinking (as she always did) of the girl that had the Doctor’s attentions so firmly in hand, wondering idly who she was. 

After another fifteen minutes, she was frustrated. The proportions on the figure she was sketching were all wrong. Clearly dropping Anat/Phys would be a bad idea, since she needed a better understanding of the human physique. And Lord knew she’d miss seeing him twice a week if she gave up the class. 

She scrapped the drawing, ripping off the sheet of paper and balling it up, throwing it in the general direction of her trash can. Staring at the blank paper in front of her, she tried to think of something to draw. 

Unbidden, the thought of Chris’ eyes returned to her memory. 

She bent and started to draw. 

After another half hour, she had a decent sketch of a pair of eyes, and reached for the chalks. It was a surprise to her when she pulled pale blue without even thinking - the exact shade of Chris’ irises. 

Oh, she was in so much trouble. 

A little panicked by the intensity of her crush, she put away the chalk, turned off her desk lamp, and changed into her night clothes. She crawled in her bed, setting the little clock on her bedside table to play for another hour before she snuggled under the duvet around her pillow. 

Rose fell asleep to the Doctor discussing an MP who had previously made inflammatory comments but had now reversed herself. 

When she dreamed, she dreamed of the Doctor, her brain conjuring an image of blue eyes and leather behind the microphone.

~*~O~*~

Another Tuesday, another afternoon of Rose in his office. As each session went on, he tried to find ways to squeeze out bits of her life without sounding too intrusive.

“What made you decide to make art your course?” Chris asked one day, two weeks after their tutoring sessions began. “You’re obviously quite good at it, but what made you decide to make it your career?”

Rose shrugged as she packed up her anatomy book and notes. “I always liked to draw and paint. Every Christmas, my mum would buy me an art set, and I’d use it all up before my birthday came around in April.” She smiled at the memory. “So Mum would buy me a new one, and I’d use that one up, too, usually before school began. It got to be a tradition, one I never grew out of.”

Chris smiled at her. “Your parents must be very proud.”

Rose snorted. “Mum’s less than thrilled that I’m actually studying art. She thought it was a phase. Says I’m wasting my time on a fancy art degree that’ll never pay the bills.” Rose sat back in her chair, her shoulders more slumped than he had ever seen them. 

He frowned at her defeated pose and scoffed. “Bettering yourself is _never_ a bad idea. The world would be a much less beautiful place without people like you.”

Her eyes widened, and he corrected himself hastily. “You and your art, I mean.”

Rose beamed at him, and he relaxed a little. It wouldn’t do for her to think he was flirting with her. 

He was, of course, but that was beside the point. 

Chris mentally shook himself. “What about your father? What does he say about your ‘fancy art degree’?”

She looked a little sad. “He wouldn’t know. M’dad died when I was just a baby.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Um, yeah. Thanks. Don’t be sorry, though. It was just me and Mum, but we got along fine.”

“You grew up in London?”

“Yeah. Peckham, on one of the council estates.”

Chris was shocked. Of all the things she could have told him, he never would have expected that. 

She gave him a shrewd smile. “You’re surprised.”

“No! Well, yes. A bit,” he stammered. “You just don’t run into a lot of people here from the estates.”

“I’m determined to leave ‘em,” she answered with a steely tone he hadn’t heard from her before. “I don’t want to be a statistic. I want _more_ for myself. I want to be somebody. Not anyone important, just...”

“Who says you’re not important?” he asked softly, and once again Rose’s eyes snapped up to his. They were softer this time, though, and he found himself gazing into them. 

Rose cleared her throat again. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”

“Gallifrey,” he answered without thinking. 

He’d managed to surprise himself. He always kept his life away from Uni a closely-guarded secret. When asked the question, he usually told people that he was from a country in the northeast of Europe without giving a specific name, letting people assume what country he meant. 

Why had he been so instantly honest with Rose?

He’d have to watch himself -- and his words -- carefully. 

“Gallifrey? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”

“Yes, well, I’m not surprised,” he told her. “It’s a very small country.”

“Do you still have family there?”

“An uncle and scattering of cousins. My...my parents are gone. My father passed just after I turned eight.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must have been difficult. Your mum, too?”

Chris nodded, not willing to say anymore. Rose added, “That must be so hard. As much as she frustrates me, I can’t imagine life without my mum.”

“I still grieve. She was unique. Not everyone in my family appreciated my need for education, but my mother did. She’d be proud of where I am today. That means a lot and matters the most.” 

Rose smile was so genuine, he felt just as he always did when he was with her -- warmed from the inside.

~*~O~*~

Another Thursday, another afternoon in his office.

He’d been explaining the musculoskeletal system to her, harkening back to a few weeks before. He was going into great detail about tendons, using his own forearm and hand as an example, demonstrating the mechanisms at work. 

Rose had never been more distracted by another person’s… _anatomy_ as she was in that moment, watching him flex and relax.

“Make sense?” he asked, and she blinked, trying to remember what he had just said. 

“Hmm? Oh! Yes,” she sputtered, feeling (yet another) blush creep up her neck. 

Chris gave her a look that seemed knowing, and her flush deepened. 

“And then there’s the leg…”

“No!” she cried, and was immediately sure she’d never been so red. But she honestly didn’t know if she’d be able to take it if he rolled up his trousers and showed her his leg, working what had to be glorious muscles in front of her.

“I mean,” she corrected herself, “I think I’ve got it. Thanks, though.”

His smile was almost a smirk, and she knew -- she _knew_ \-- that he must know how flustered he made her.

“So, Rose Tyler,” he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. She was reminded once again of the lazy lion image she’d had before. “Will you be giving tours again when they start up in a month or so?”

“Yes,” she nodded. 

“How do you fit it all in, with your courseload?

“Well, they divide up the tours between several of us, and they're pretty flexible with our schedules. They’re understanding that we’re all students.”

“They would have to be.”

She nodded again and started to put away her book and notes.

“I’m surprised you aren’t an AT for one of the art lecturers. Heard from David that the stipend is generous.”

“Only graduate students can be AT’s,” she reminded him. “I took on another job, just until the tours start up again. I’m a waitress at one of the campus locals. Closing shifts don’t always help when drawing straight lines the next morning -- ” 

“Or staying awake in lab.” 

Rose laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “God, that was so embarrassing. I could have killed Craig for swanning off. Can we forget that happened?” 

“Done. And here I thought you were tired from being out all night dancing.” 

“Ha! I wish, not much time for down time.” 

“Everyone needs down time, Rose,” he told her, softly.

She’d sure as hell _make_ down time, if it was going to be spent with him.

“What about you, what do _lecturers_ do for... down time?” 

“Not dance,” he said, chuckling.

“No? Lecturers don’t dance?” She gave him a tongue-touched smile, daring him to look, and was thrilled when he did. 

“I’m thirty-eight years old, Rose. I think you can assume that at some point I’ve _danced_.” There was a weight on ‘dance’ that indicated somewhere in the conversation the word had changed meaning. It made her shiver. He cleared his throat. “But I’m sure we’re talking about different types of dancing given our age difference. I was required to learn the formal dances, none of this new-fangled macarena stuff.”

Rose laughed. “You really haven’t danced in a while if you think the macarena is new!” She raised an eyebrow as what he said fully registered. “Required by whom?”

She saw something pass over his face that looked like alarm, but she didn’t comment, already understanding that he was more forthcoming when not pushed.

“My family,” he finally answered. “They were old-fashioned that way. I had to learn to be the perfect gentleman.”

“Really?” She was intrigued. “Why’s that, then?”

Chris shrugged, but looked uncomfortable. “Just part of my upbringing.”

Rose wanted to dig further, but resisted. “So you have the knowledge, just refuse to put it into practice?” she teased, her tongue between her teeth again. 

She caught his blue eyes looking down at her mouth, and quickly changed her smile to be less… flirty.

“I guess you could put it that way,” he agreed. 

“Well, I’d love to see you dance sometime,” she said, then realized what she’d said and winced. 

Chris just smiled, a slow, lazy thing. “Maybe you will, Rose Tyler. Maybe you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elUwSHjfA94) is the song the Doctor plays for Her.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
_November 20, 2015_

The usually quiet lab was filled with chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. Lab partners examined the autonomic nervous system response to different stimuli by measuring a change in skin temperature and pulse rate. Craig wiggled his hand covered with electrodes and wires until Rose slapped it. She was struggling with getting a baseline for his skin response test, and him fidgeting wasn’t helping. 

“Seriously, Craig, hold still.” 

“Wish Sophie could see this. She loves all of those crime dramas when they wire people up to lie detectors. This is right up her alley.” 

Rose smiled down at him. Craig mentioned his _best mate_ Sophie at least a dozen times each lab period. It was adorable, but she needed him to sit still. They’d been at it for a while, and still had to measure pulse rate. Rose had agreed to pick up an extra shift at the pub tonight and couldn’t afford to be late. 

“Okay. I got it. Take it off and let’s do me.” 

“Rose, I’ve been waiting to hear you say that all term,” Craig said with a wink and a smirk. She stuck her tongue out at him while trying to re-attach the pulse electrodes to her hand. They kept flopping to the table. 

“You need to clean the tape every time you use them or the reading won’t be accurate.” 

“Hey, Doc!” Craig chirped over her head. 

Rose swallowed hard, then glanced up at Chris. He had reached out and wiped the back of the electrode off with an alcohol swab, then turned her wrist over to press them on the back of her fingers, just above her palm. His hand dwarfed hers, fingers long and elegant, and his head was close, so close she could smell something warm and spicy. And intoxicating. 

“Okay, Craig. Zero out the machine and get a baseline on Rose here.” 

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_ The string of profanities ran through Rose’s head so fast, she was surprised the waveform on the computer screen didn’t actually spell out the words. 

“I don’t think it’s attached right. This wave is wonky. Unless Rose is having some type of cardiac event.” Craig cracked up. 

“Very funny,” Rose sneered, taking a deep breath and immediately regretting it. Tea and leather, that’s what was so familiar about his smell, and she’d just overdosed on it. Rather than risking any further humiliation, she pulled the electrodes off and stood up. 

“Switch with me, Craig. I can run that better than you.” 

Ever unflappable, Craig climbed back up on the stool. “Your wish is my command, Rose. I have no problem being experimented on by a beautiful girl.” 

Rose kept her head down, but heard Chris chuckle as he wandered through the rest of the class. Under her lashes she saw him look over the shoulder of a few other lab partners before exiting. 

“Hmmm...nice save, Rose.” 

Craig sat on the stool with a Cheshire-cat grin. 

“Shut it, Craig, or I’ll be texting Sophie within the hour.” 

Craig’s mouth opened to a perfect ‘O’, and she captured his waveform.

~*~O~*~ 

Today she looked particularly beautiful. Bloody gorgeous. He didn’t know if it was the subject matter or the corner of his mind that was simply labeled _Rose_.

The subject was human sexuality. He was sure the tips of his ears matched the flush on her cheeks as he tried to casually lean back against his desk and explain the intricacies of the male sexual organ. Rose chewed her bottom lip as her eyes wandered shyly around the room. 

Chris was about to describe the purpose of the seminal vesicles when Rose quietly stood up and closed the door of his office. Without a word, she crossed the room and stood in front of him. 

“W-What are you doing?” he croaked.

“I’m attempting to use the scientific method.” She beamed at him, tongue caught between her teeth.

“Rose, I’m trying to explain the purpose of--”

“I’m thinking you’ve forgotten one important detail, Chris,” Rose replied impatiently.

“And what would that be?”

She yanked him forwards by his belt buckle. “I’m an art student,” she reminded him, her voice low and husky. “I’m a _visual_ learner.”

Never removing his eyes from her face, he shrugged out of his jacket and threw it across the room where it landed in a nearby chair with a thud.

"You want me to _show_ you, Rose?” he growled. Chris swept some papers aside and then his belt clanged against the edge of his desk as he hurriedly unzipped his trousers.

She hopped up on the desk, guiding his hand to the heat gathering between her thighs. “Yes,” she half-moaned.

“Didn’t hear you,” he muttered, running his thumb over the seam of her trousers, then grinning when she jerked against him.

“Yes!” she cried.

Chris unzipped her trousers and Rose eagerly raised her bum as he peeled them off, taking her knickers off with them. Soon, very soon he would have those creamy thighs wrapped around his waist as he slammed into her. He’d been waiting too long for this, his restraint worn thin.

“Chris.”

“What is it, love?”

“Chris.”

“Tell me.”

“Dr. Foreman!”

Chris jerked awake to see AT David standing over him. 

“Bloody hell! _What_ do you want?”

“Weellll, you have lecture in 5 minutes.”

Chris folded his arms over his chest, and slid his chair under the desk, glowering at David. "You think I don't know when my own class starts?"

"You were asleep, Chris..."

“Sod off, David. I’ll be there.” 

His AT flew out the door, and Chris laid his head on the desk, banging it in frustration. How was he going to face Rose after that simply _fantastic_ dream?

~*~O~*~

_November 23, 2015_

_Highness,_  
_Since you left two weeks ago, the Duke has been in closed door meetings with several members of an organization calling itself Republic of Gallifrey. I did some digging and on paper they appear benign -- submitting annual papers for the abolishment of the monarchy with only a few thousand signatures, at best. But some of the fringe members have been linked to terrorist activities in Turkey and the Mid-East._  
_I have no information on the reason or outcome of the meeting, but know from Wilfred that this wasn’t the first time this group has sat with His Grace._  
_I remind you that it is October, and only four months before you turn…_

Chris tossed the letter aside, frustrated. Clearly, Saxon hadn’t taken Chris’ warning seriously. And he didn’t need Jack’s constant reminder of his birthday; his internal clock continued to count down the remaining 16 months of his freedom quite well on its own. He scrubbed his hand down his face. What he needed was a drink. The cork was half-out of the bottle of wine when he heard the jangling of keys in the door, and Donna let herself into his flat again. Chris rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for his privacy to be invaded tonight.

“Oi! Don’t you knock?” he demanded, bottle of wine in hand. 

“No reason to.”

“S’my flat. One of these days, you’re going to walk in on me in my pants or something.”

“Nah,” Donna dismissed him. “Far as I know, you only have one outfit.” She waved at his jumper and jeans, then changed the subject. “Put that down and grab your jacket. We’re going out.”

Chris shook his head. “Can’t. Working on lecture notes.”

“Doesn’t look like it, looks like you’re about to have a drink.” She grabbed his jacket for him. “I’ve had a shit week, and need a night out.”

“It’s Monday.”

“So?”

“So, how can you have a shit week when it’s only Monday? I’ve had a long day and don’t particularly feel like tying one on. Don’t people just sit back and relax after a long day?”

“They do. In pubs, with their mates. Donna’s orders for the Doctor.”

“Donna…”

She matched his tone. “Spaceman…”

Chris sighed, but put the bottle down. “Really. I can’t go. I need to work on --”

“Oh, bugger what you need to work on. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately. You need a night out. As your friend, I can do nothing less than provide that. Now come on, shift! Put this on!” 

She tossed his jacket at him and he caught it with one hand. 

“Fine. One drink.”

~*~O~*~

Chris stepped into the Bad Wolf pub and looked around. The place was clean, didn’t smell, and had a shaded, warm-wood atmosphere Chris always liked about English pubs. The publican stood behind the bar, pulling levers to fill pint glasses with draught ale, and the crowd was light for now. They were seated at a booth against the wall, and Chris took his seat with a heavy sigh.

Donna ignored him and grabbed a menu. “You should get the chips. Best chips in London, here,” she told him without looking up. “The burgers aren’t half bad, either.”

“I never said anything about dinner. One drink.” He grunted, looking at his own menu, then heard a very familiar voice speaking. 

“Welcome to the Bad Wolf, my name is Rose, and -- oh!”

He beamed up at her, pleasantly surprised. “Hullo, Rose.”

She smiled back. “Hello.”

His gaze held hers, and he felt the familiar tug of her brown eyes. He tried not to let his eyes drift to the rather form fitting t-shirt and snug jeans she was wearing. Most of the time she wore more flowy attire: blouses, skirts, and leggings, but maybe this ensemble was what brought in better tips. Not that he was noticing. 

“Hello,” Donna said, looking between the two with a little half-smile on her face. “I’m Donna Noble. I think I’ve seen you around campus doing the treacherous backward-tour-guide walk.” 

He shook himself, then tossed a lazy hand out to indicate Donna. “Rose, this is my friend and neighbor, Donna Noble. Donna, this is Rose Tyler.”

Rose shifted her tray and notepad to take Donna’s hand and shake it. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she smiled. 

Chris shuddered a little when he saw Donna’s mischievous grin. “So! How do you two know each other?”

“Rose is in my Anat/Phys class,” Chris explained, now looking at the menu. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a student… I mean, you don’t look like an undergrad.” Donna corrected. 

Rose smiled. “Yeah, I tell everyone I’m a late bloomer. Took me a bit longer to get here. Do you guys need a minute?” 

“Yeah, please. I’ll take a pint of bitter, to start,” Chris said.

“I’ll have a cider, thanks.” 

Rose nodded and walked away, Chris watching her over his menu. As she disappeared behind the bar, he caught Donna’s gaze. And smirk.

“Student, huh?” 

Chris couldn’t help it… his eyes followed her over to the bar, mostly fixated right on her bum.

Donna cleared her throat and Chris turned back to her. She had her lip between her teeth and her eyes were twinkling, looking for all the world like the cat that got the canary.

“Leave it, Donna.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“Well, can’t deny that,” she allowed, putting her menu away. “So. Rose, hmm? Is that the girl you’ve been ...tutoring?” 

“Didn’t you hear me say ‘leave it’?” He looked at her with a haughty expression, then sighed. 

“You told me you were tutoring one of your Anat/Phys students. You didn’t tell me you had a great, big, honking crush on her.”

He scowled. 

She gave him an innocent look. “What? Was that supposed to be a secret? Because I’ve got news for you, mate, you aren’t that good at keeping secrets. Everyone in this pub is now aware of the fact that you’re hopelessly gone on that girl.”

Chris wanted to laugh at Donna’s comment. He had kept his true identity a secret from her for nearly a decade. But the truth was, Donna had called him out on his attraction, and the embarrassment of being so transparent about that particular secret made him significantly less smug.

“I think it’s brilliant, by the way.”

“She’s my student.”

“She won’t always be. End of the semester, she’s free and clear, isn’t she?”

That _hadn’t_ occurred to him, actually. In just three weeks, she’d be out of his class and he could pursue her, if he wanted. There was no reason why he couldn’t. No regulations against it, minimal taboo… Rose wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility, after all. 

“That just hit you, didn’t it?”

Then a little voice in the back of his mind chided him, and Chris pinched the bridge of his nose. No. He shouldn’t even be thinking like that. He had a duty to his country, and that duty did _not_ include what could only be a throwaway relationship with one of his students. He’d had enough relationships that ended early. All of them had, in fact.

He had to get this under control. He needed to curb his own desires and focus on getting his thesis done so that he could go back to Gallifrey and do what was needed of him. He was required to marry and produce an heir. It was non-negotiable, and what he’d told his uncle was true - he was not going to shirk his duties, no matter how much he wanted to. When he finished his thesis, he’d go home, choose a bride, and marry her. Because it was what he _had_ to do. 

The very thought made his bones feel as if they were full of glass, and the idea of Reinette Poisson as his life’s mate made him queasy. 

But he had to marry. There was no choice for him. It was his duty. 

Chris’ mind flashed to an image of Rose wearing a wedding gown and veil, looking up at him in his finery, smiling with her tongue in the corner of her mouth.

 _No_. He shut that thought down as quickly as it had risen. It was simply out of the question. He’d never spoken to the woman in a way that wasn’t strictly professional, for God’s sake, no matter what he thought of her. It was ludicrous to think of her as a potential bride, so he didn’t. 

He didn’t bother with a response to Donna’s question. 

“I knew it!” she crowed. “I _knew_ you were interested in somebody.”

“Oh yeah, and how did you know that?”

Donna leaned across the table. “Chris Foreman, in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you check out a girl’s bum before. But you just _devoured_ her with your eyes. Like a starving man looking at a steak.”

Rose came back to the table and Chris felt his ears burning red. 

“Here we are… Cider for Donna and bitter for Chris. Can I get you guys anything else?”

“We’ll take two orders of chips,” Donna said, closing the menu. “Unless you’d like a steak, Chris?”

“Chips will be fine, thanks.” 

“Good choice,” Rose said. “Chips are my weakness,” she mentioned with a tongue-touched smile. “Be right back.” 

Chris wiped the condensation off his glass while Donna finished laughing at her joke.

“What do you know about her?” Donna asked, wiping her eyes.

“Not much,” he admitted. “Art major, widowed mum, from a council estate.” Donna raised her eyes at that and he felt an overwhelming need to defend her. “Whole countries have been built from people who’ve started worse off than a council estate.” 

Donna held her hands up in mock surrender. “No need to defend her honor to me, Prince Charming.” 

It was said in jest, but struck Chris dumb. For a moment, his worlds collided. Hearing his title from Donna’s lips felt wrong. No one, in all his years in London, had ever called him that and it shook him. 

“Hey,” Donna reached over and squeezed his hand. “I was just kidding. You really care about her, don’t you?” 

Chris stared at her, not sure what to say. Could he deny that he cared for Rose? Or could he tell Donna that her quip had caused him to falter?

Rose saved him from having to do either by delivering two plates of chips, hot and greasy and perfect. With a quick check to make sure they didn’t need anything else, she drifted off in a blur of pink and yellow, tending to a growing crowd. 

Donna babbled on about the media circus she was managing for the University’s upcoming anniversary events culminating in a New Year’s Eve Ball. 

“Faculty, staff, large donors, everyone is invited. Even me!” she tittered, popping another chip in her mouth. “And I expect you there, as well.” 

“At a ball? Not likely.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Maybe you can bring a date; it’s after term closes.” 

“I think New Year’s Eve is on a Thursday, I’ll be on air. My boss is a real slave-driver.” 

“Your boss can play a pre-recording of you and your dedic...Oh my god!” 

“What?” 

Donna leaned across the booth. “Is Rose … _Her_!?”

Chris didn't answer right away, taking a moment to formulate his answer. 

He took a moment too long.

"She _is_!" Donna crowed. “Oh, this is _brilliant_! Everyone on campus has been wondering, and you wouldn’t even tell _me_. Now I know! _Ha_!”

“Would you keep your voice down?” he hissed. Donna sat across from him giggling like a teenager. “That’s not exactly something I want people knowing, especially...her.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Spaceman. Or should I call you ‘loverboy’ now?”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t, you love me.”

Chris let his head hang, his chin falling to his chest. He did love his friend -- although he was ready to throttle her for this one.

~*~O~*~

Bent over the canvas, nose almost touching the oil-based surface, Rose didn’t hear Amy come into the common area.

“If you get any closer, you’ll be in the painting,” Amy joked. She carried two very full glasses of wine. 

“I didn’t want to make a second trip so I emptied the bottle,” Amy said to Rose’s wide eyes at seeing the glasses. She handed one to her. 

“‘Cause the kitchen is so far away,” Rose teased.

“If I walked away, you’d be back at the easel, rather than paying attention to me. Seriously, between painting, studying, and work, you have no time for fun.”

“I find this fun,” Rose said with a shrug. She didn’t expect Amy to understand, she hadn’t found anyone who did. The red wine tasted warm and peppery on the back of her tongue. Amy knew her wine and always seemed to have a bottle from an interesting vineyard in a far off place at the ready. Rose was the lucky recipient of Amy’s latest interest -- the California Pinot Noir. 

“Like it?” Amy inquired casually, as if she were already sure of the answer, holding the glass up to the light. 

“Spicy,” Rose answered. “Rich and yummy.” 

“You talking about your dreamboat lecturer or the wine?” Amy tossed her a knowing smile. 

“Maybe I’m talking about _the Doctor_?” she teased back, hoping Amy would take the bait and not razz her about Chris tonight. 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those? That voice, and the way he natters on and on. Don’t you find it a bit much?”

Rose took another sip. “I think the topics are interesting, but it’s his voice, hmmm. Listen to that.” Rose got up to raise the volume on the stereo, and the Doctor’s voice filled the space. Tonight he was tackling the inanity of reality television. Rose had to admit, some of his comments were pretty spot on.

“ _...Is it that important, getting your face on the telly? Is it worth dying for_?”

Amy scrunched her nose. “Yeah, very soothing.” 

Rose dismissed her, setting her wine glass down after another sip and bending back to the canvas. “Well, it works as background noise.” 

Amy shook her head as if to rid the sound of the Doctor’s voice from her ears, and changed the subject. “How goes it with your Chris? Any late night tutoring sessions?” 

Rose sighed while Amy smirked. So much for avoiding the topic tonight. It wasn’t like there was much to tell; between lecture, tutoring, and the occasional lab, she was seeing more of Chris than anyone else in her life, save for maybe Amy, but that was all in a professional, educational setting. She hadn’t told Amy about the surprise visit Monday night at the pub. Seeing him at the Bad Wolf, one arm slung over the back of the bench seat like any other bloke, was oddly thrilling. He fit in so seamlessly with the pub’s dark wood and tangy smell of ale. She could have watched him twist his pint glass around in circles all night.

Mondays were typically quiet, but bad weather had postponed the Sunday night match, and not long after she delivered Chris and Donna their chips, the crowds arrived, already ripe from pre-gaming somewhere. By the time she got back to Donna and Chris, embarrassed for leaving them alone so long, their plates and pints were empty. She was mortified. Now, he would think she was a bad student and a bad waitress, as well. 

No, she wasn’t going to rehash all of that with Amy. It was humiliating enough living it the first time. 

“No, nothing like that. He’s been really helpful with the material.” 

“Hmmm… I bet.” Amy drained the last of her wine. “Final exams are in, what, three weeks? Not long before you can make your move.” She waggled her eyebrows.

Rose studied the wine in her glass. “That’s your style, Amy. Not mine.” 

“True.” Amy agreed with a sly smile. “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t adopt it. C’mon Rose, I know what I saw. And I bet if I sat in on your tutoring sessions, I’d want to bring a knife with me… you know, to cut the sexual tension!” she added at Rose’s quizzical look. “Just try and tell me there isn’t any.” 

It might have been the two-for-one glass of wine she was more than halfway through, but Rose smiled knowingly, and Amy whooped. 

“I knew it! God, I wish I could see you guys, brushing fingertips as you pass notes back and forth, heads almost touching as you lean over a textbook. Ah...very Lolita-like.” 

“Eww, Amy! Thanks for ruining a good buzz. He’s not a perverted old man lusting after a thirteen-year-old girl.” 

“Twelve-year-old, and okay, okay. Poor reference choice…”

“Icky, repulsive reference choice,” Rose added. 

“Fine. Just insert another sexy, closed-door, late-night session analogy of your choosing.” 

“Except the door’s open and it’s at two in the afternoon.” 

Amy rolled her eyes and stood up, taking Rose’s empty wine glass. “Nitpicker.” She stuck her tongue out. “I’m heading out, Rory’s picking me up on the way back from the library.” 

“Have fun.” 

After Amy left, Rose picked up her brushes and sighed. The bristles were dried and stiff; there’d be no more painting tonight. She closed her eyes and let the Doctor’s sign-off wash over her. 

“ _Well, enough of me tonight. Just one more song to play, an oldie but a goodie, for someone who’s working hard to make ends meet, and doing it the right way, none of this reality tv golden ticket nonsense. This is for Her._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-tRXewCAmU) is the song the Doctor plays for Her.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
_November 27, 2015_

The Friday shift dragged but with no footie matches on, the Bad Wolf slowed down. Since arriving at four, Rose had served only six tables. She needed things to pick up soon, or she would have wasted a Friday night with nothing to show for it. 

Not that she had any better offers.

Ianto stuck his head into the kitchen, where Rose was washing dishes. “I just seated a party in your section.”

“Great, thanks!” She hoped it was a large, thirsty party that would make up for the slow start. 

Walking out of the swinging doors, she dropped off a pair of drinks at one of her tables before she made her way to table twenty-seven, feeling a pulse of disappointment when she saw only one person in the booth. She plastered a smile on her face and stepped up to the table. 

“Hi, welcome to the Bad Wo- Oh, hi! Donna, isn’t it?”

Donna smiled up at her. “How are you, Rose?”

“Not too bad, you?”

“I’m great.”

Rose adjusted her pad, pulling a pen out from its home behind her ear and trying to make her voice casual. “Is it just you? Or is Chris joining you?”

The ginger-haired woman gave her a funny look. “No, no Chris tonight. But I am waiting for one more. Awful quiet in here; I thought I wouldn’t get a table with the Friday night crowd.”

Rose waved at the mounted tellys, hoping to hide her disappointment. “No football tonight,” she said, as if that explained all that was wrong with the world.

Donna smiled. “Good. Makes it easier to have a conversation. I’ll take a pint of ale while I wait, please.” 

Rose nodded and headed off to the bar to enter the order. She watched Donna alternating glances between the door, her phone, and the menu. As Rose returned with the pint, the ginger-haired woman was reapplying her lipstick, a stunning shade of dark red.

“That’s an amazin’ color,” Rose said with a smile, placing the pint on a coaster. 

“Oh, thanks. Sorry, I know it’s rude to do it at the table. I’m just nervous.” 

“Gathered that, you’re showing the classic signs of blind or first date nervousness.” 

Donna laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve seen it all. Just hope I’m not one of those poor sods who get stood up.” 

“You? Hardly. In fact,” Rose said, staring behind Donna to the pub entrance where the bell had just rung. “I’d say the bloke who just came in looking like he might jump out of his trainers in excitement might be for you.” She winked and nodded at the door, and Donna twisted around. Her face lit up with a smile and she waved. 

Rose left to grab another menu. 

Watching the pair as the night wore on was the best entertainment for a slow shift. Better than any romantic comedy Rose had seen on Netflix lately. The shared smiles, loud laughs, and Donna’s flirtatious hair flips had Rose wishing she could make some popcorn and pull up a stool. 

Towards the end of her shift, Donna’s date got up to use the loo and Rose took the chance to sweep in one more time. 

“Looks like it’s going well,” she whispered. 

Donna sighed. “So well. Lee’s amazing.” 

Rose nodded. “From my perspective, he thinks the same about you.” She grinned at Donna’s wide eyes. “Look, I’m not rushing you, I just wanted to check-in since I’m going off shift. Do you need anything else?”

“God, is it that late? I’m so sorry. We’ve tied up your table all night!” Donna looked horrified, but Rose waved her off. 

“Hardly.” 

Lee returned and discreetly slipped Rose a card to pay the check. As she walked away, she heard Donna argue over paying it and smiled when Lee said, _Next time, D-D-Donna_.

~*~O~*~

Chris had been both dreading and greatly looking forward to this particular tutoring session… human sexuality.

For her part, Rose seemed to be as affected as he was, and he was gratified every time she darted her eyes away or bit her lip. He was glad to know that he wasn’t the only person in the room with a wandering mind. 

And he was sure, now, that her mind _was_ wandering. Almost as sure that it was going in the same general direction as his, that a hands-on instruction in this particular area would have been much more appealing. 

Shaking his head, he tried to bring the material back into focus -- and to change the subject just a little. 

“By design, the male anatomy and female anatomy...”

His mobile buzzed on the desk as it received a text message. Typically he’d ignore it, but it was the third time it had gone off in quick succession. Frowning slightly, he reached over to grab it, and when he picked it up, it started to ring in his hand. The display read ‘Harriet’.

“Excuse me,” he apologized to Rose, then pressed the green button to answer. “Hullo, Mrs. Jones.”

“ _Chris, you have a visitor_.”

Her tone was stretched tight, and he narrowed his eyes. “A visitor?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Who is it?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” she said, now whispering. “ _She won’t tell me her name. I didn’t want to let her in your flat without you there._ ” 

There was no time for him to dwell on the irony in that. 

“Can you describe her?”

“ _Blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, very pretty. Dressed to the nines. Interesting accent._ ”

 _Reinette_. He started shoving papers and books into his bag.

“ _Have you got a secret girlfriend that you’ve been keeping from us_?” Harriet added.

“Not remotely,” he bit out, and switched ears. “Let her in, but stay there with her. I’m on my way. Fifteen minutes.” Chris rang off before Harriet could say another word.

“Are you alright?” Rose asked, eyes tracking his frantic movements.

He did his best to smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just… an unexpected visitor from home has turned up at my flat. I need to cut this short today, I’m sorry.”

Rose started packing her bag as well. “S’alright. I think...um...I think I have a decent understanding of the material.”

The best he could offer her was a half-lipped smile, Reinette already wheedling into his thoughts. 

“Same time Thursday?”

“Of course,” she smiled up at him. 

“Fantastic,” he said. But it fell flat. 

Chris was sure he’d never driven so fast as he did then, hoping to get back to the flat before Reinette could do irreparable damage. He didn’t know what she was doing there, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

He parked illegally and dashed to the door, taking the stairs two-at-a-time. He walked through the unlocked door, dropping his keys in the little bowl on the side table, delaying seeing her to catch his breath.

He had expected Reinette and Harriet, the former perched delicately on his armchair, her back ramrod straight, hands folded and ankles crossed. He hadn’t expected to find Donna next to Harriet on the couch, both looking uncomfortable.

“Highness!” Reinette declared, jumping to her feet and crossing the room to kiss each of his cheeks. He fought down the shudder, but took a step away from her as quickly as he could, ignoring the flash in her eyes. He darted a look over to Donna and Harriet, noting Donna’s smug look and Harriet’s confusion. 

“What are you doing here, Reinette?” he ground out.

“Why, I came to see you, of course. I was so very curious about what could keep you away from Gallifrey so long.”

“You have always known what I’ve been doing here, and that has never caused a surprise visit before.”

She gave him a soft smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and he felt his stomach roll at the sight. 

“Perhaps I just wanted to further our courtship.”

“We don’t have a courtship,” he said, through gritted teeth.

She ignored him. “Since you are never home, I thought I should come to you.”

Donna cleared her throat from the couch, and Chris darted his eyes towards her. Reinette did, too.

“Who are your friends, Highness?”

Harriet and Donna shot to their feet as if the starter’s pistol had fired. 

“Harriet Jones, Landlady,” Mrs. Jones said, extending her hand before Chris could speak, make an excuse, drag Reinette out of there… _anything_.

Reinette took Harriet’s hand in a loose, fingertip grip. 

“Donna Noble. Friend of Chris’,” Donna spoke up, putting her own hand out and cutting her eyes at Chris.

Reinette raised a well-shaped eyebrow at the name. “Charmed, I am sure,” Reinette purred. “I --”

“Donna, Mrs. Jones, this is Reinette Poisson.”

“Contessa of Arcadia,” Reinette volunteered, then turned to Chris and whined. “Really, Highness, where are your manners?”

Chris was sure his teeth would break from the pressure he was putting on them. 

“Reinette was just leaving,” he said in a curt tone to Harriet and Donna. “Please excuse us.” He took Reinette by the bicep, leading her out of his flat and into the hallway.

Once there, she turned and put her hands on his chest. “I have missed you, Christoph.”

He reached up, grabbing her wrists and pulling them away from him. “You should not be here.”

“Whyever not, my angel?”

“I am not your angel. And because no one here knows that I am a prince, and I have worked very hard to keep it that way.”

Reinette looked a little surprised. “Why do you not claim your title among these people? Are you ashamed?”

“No, but I prefer not to receive preferential treatment.”

“Is _that_ why you are living as a poor commoner, accepting them as friends?” She scoffed. “You are more than deserving of preferential treatment, Christoph. You are the Prince Regent of Gallifrey, and should conduct yourself accordingly.” She patted his cheek lightly. “My poor, lonely prince.”

Chris darted his eyes up and down the hall, praying that no one could hear them. “You have to leave, Reinette.”

“Oh, Christoph. Surely you can take a day or two to visit with your intended.”

“You are _not_ my intended,” he spat, ignoring her repeated informal use of his name and everything it implied.

“Of course I am. You were different when you were home last. We had a moment between us. I know you felt it as well.” 

Chris groaned. 

She smiled knowingly. “Besides, Christoph, who else will you marry?”

Unbidden, Rose’s tongue-touched smile sprung to mind, but he pushed it away. Now was not the time.

“You have to leave. _Now._ ” He pulled out his mobile and started dialing. “I am calling a car for you, then calling Mattias and telling him to be ready to fly in an hour.”

“An hour!” she cried. “Oh, but I thought we would be able to spend some time together.” She put her hand back on his chest, and he shrugged it off, snapping orders into the phone as he led her down the stairwell. 

“Return to Gallifrey, please.”

“But I want to be here, with you.”

“You must leave. I don’t even know what you are doing here.”

She turned to him on the stoop. “I am here for you.”

“There is _nothing_ here for you. Go home.”

“You know…” she purred, stepping close into his personal space, her scent overwhelming him and making him want to vomit. "Court life is nothing more than a chess game, Christoph. You know this. And I am simply making the required moves."

Chris growled. "What moves?"

She gave him an innocent smile. "Why, the moves required to capture the king."

"Good thing I'm only a prince, then."

Reinette leaned closer, batting her eyelashes at him. "But you made it clear, Highness. Here, you are not the prince."

His mobile vibrated; the car had arrived, and Chris led Reinette down the walkway and opened the door for her, as courtesy dictated. 

“Go home, Reinette. The plane will leave in an hour.”

She stood on tiptoe, kissing his cheek, and once again he felt the desire to vomit.

“Hope to see you home soon, Christoph.”

He didn’t answer, just handed her into the car, giving curt instructions to the driver. Then he turned around and looked up at his building, bracing himself to go inside and face the music.

Jack answered the phone on the third ring. “ _Highness! To what do I owe the--_ ”

“Reinette was here,” he bit out, climbing the stairs. “Did you know?”

Jack’s curse told him all he needed to know. “ _I had no idea she’d gone to you. She said this morning she was travelling, perhaps doing some shopping in Paris_.”

“Well, it appears that she lied,” he snapped, coming to a stop outside of his door.

“ _I’m sorry, Christoph, I’ll--_ ”

“She outed me to my neighbors. I have to go do damage control. I refused her again, and she’s likely to have a lot to say when she gets back. Handle it.”

“ _Yes, Highness_.”

Chris rang off and sighed, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension there before he opened the door. The smell of popcorn hit him when he did. 

“Please tell me you didn't make popcorn,” he complained, coming into the lounge.

Donna and Harriet sat munching on his couch, without a speck of guilt. 

“I have to do something with my hands when I'm watching a drama,” Donna replied with glee, digging into the bowl for more popcorn. “ _That_ beat any of the good episodes of Peyton Place. ‘ _My lonely prince_ \--’”

Chris cringed. “I thought I had shut the door.”

“You did. We listened at the keyhole,” Donna shrugged, unapologetically. 

Chris wanted to chastise them for invading his privacy, but knew it would be useless. He already let them invade his privacy on a regular basis. 

“So!” Harriet looked at him with an expectant smile. 

He sighed, running a hand down his face in resignation. “What do you want to know?”

Donna waved him off. “Already know more than you think, _your Highness_.”

Chris crossed his arms, waiting. When neither of them said anything, he asked, “What do you _think_ you know, and how do you know it?”

“I knew you were some sort of royalty or another. There were little things at first.” Chris cocked an eyebrow at her, and Donna started counting on her fingers. “No one leaves that little time to get to an airport unless they’re flying privately. You carry yourself differently, for another thing. Money’s never an issue. I mean, come on, you’re back for a second doctorate, none of the Research Councils would agree to fund that for you, so you must be paying for it yourself. But you didn’t even ask about a salary for the DJ gig. Plus, a good looking bloke like you living like a hermit is either gay or hiding something. Your little infatuation with _Her_ answered that question.”

Chris waited. “And with all that you somehow came up with royalty?”

Donna laughed. “No, dumbo! I did a deep Google search. I mean really deep. I am in charge of _media_ , after all. And then Mrs. Jones texted me when Princess Aurora arrived at the door. Seriously, though, in her get-up she looked like she stepped out of a golden pumpkin coach. Is she for real?” 

He nodded. “Reinette isn’t a full-fledged princess, but she is one hundred percent a piece of work.” 

“Well, we only caught part of the show, unfortunately, but what we heard sounded like your half-princess has her eyes on the Iron Throne.” 

“Leather,” Harriet added, laughing. 

“Correction. Leather Throne.” Donna collapsed into tears. “Oh! Oh! I have questions, though. Do we need to curtsey? Does this mean I have to call you ‘sire’, or can I keep calling you ‘Spaceman’ with the occasional side of ‘you dolt’?” 

Harriet howled, wiping her eyes.

Chris started heading for his bedroom. “When you’re done having a laugh at my expense, let yourselves out.” 

“No, no! We’re sorry, seriously. What can we do to help?” 

He stopped at the door to his bedroom and turned to face them. Despite the fact that they were both smiling, they seemed earnest. 

He sighed and strode over to the couch, taking a seat between the two of them.

“You can keep it a secret. An absolute secret. I’ve kept my identity private when I’ve been here, in London, for a reason.”

“Why?” 

“Because I prefer to just be Chris, not the Prince Regent. I already have to live that life when I’m home. I’d rather just be comfortable here.”

Harriet reached over and patted his hand. “Don’t worry, dear. We won’t tell anyone. Right, Donna?”

“Right,” she agreed. “But I was a little serious, though. Do we need to do anything differently?”

“No!” he burst out, then tempered his voice. “I mean, no. I’m still the same man you’ve always known. I’m still just Chris, no matter what I am back home.”

Harriet squeezed his hand, then got to her feet. She peered at him speculatively. “Are you alright, dear?”

Ever the mother hen.

“I’m fine. A little rattled that my secret’s out, but if there was anyone I wouldn’t mind knowing, it’s you two.”

She nodded and started towards the kitchen. “I made you banana nut bread.”

“I know of one thing you could do,” he called after her. “You lot could stop letting yourselves into my flat all the time!”

Donna snorted. “Fat chance of that, _sire_.”

Chris sighed, leaned his head back against the couch and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"So, what's all this about Princess Barbie being your 'intended'?"

He scrubbed his face again. "I'm required by law to marry before I'm forty. If I don't choose a bride, Reinette is the likely - and unwanted - option."

"How old _are_ you?"

"Thirty-eight."

"Better get crackin', then, spaceman."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11  
_December 6, 2015_

Mickey waved goodbye and Rose closed the door behind him, heaving a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him - he _was_ her oldest friend, after all. It was more the fact that her mum couldn’t seem to stop making pointed remarks about how perfect he would be for Rose, what a lovely young man he was, how nice it would be having him in the family. Rose could tell that Mickey was uncomfortable with all the comments, too, although he never said anything to Jackie about it. 

But he was gone now, and Rose had her mum to herself for a bit. She had less than an hour before she needed to leave to get back to campus, but she was looking forward to the time with her mum. 

That didn’t mean they weren’t about to have a serious talk about her mum’s meddling, though. 

Rose went into the kitchen where Jackie was making tea, grabbing a mug and setting it on the counter to be filled. _Nobody_ made tea like Jackie Tyler. 

“I just don’t understand you, Rose,” Jackie lamented as she reached into the fridge for milk. “Mickey is such a good bloke…”

Rose accepted her tea with a smile and thanks, then took a sip. When she swallowed, she said “I know he is, Mum. But I don’t want him.”

“Why not? You got a bloke?”

Rose didn’t speak, just sipped her tea and felt the warmth on her cheeks from more than the rising steam, thinking of Chris. Her mum gaped at her, then sat down at the table across from Rose. 

“Tell me about him.”

“I don’t have a bloke,” Rose stonewalled.

“There’s something going on. That’s your ‘I-fancy-a-bloke’ face. Spill it.”

Rose heaved a sigh, bringing her hands, warmed by the cuppa, up to her eyes and rubbing them. She debated with herself for a few minutes about just what and how much to tell her mum. For a moment, she even considered lying outright, but that would never work. Her mother _always_ found out.

“There’s… a guy. He’s not my bloke,” she hastened to cut her mother off. “But… there’s a… guy.”

“Who is he?”

Rose looked sheepish. “My lecturer.”

“What!?” Jackie burst out. “Has some lech put his hands on you? I swear…”

“ _Mum_. You’re not listening. You wanted to know, and I’m trying to tell you, but I _can’t_ if you keep bursting out before I finish!”

Jackie scowled, but sat back in her seat and gave Rose a ‘go on’ gesture. 

“He’s my lecturer, and… blimey, I can’t believe I’m about to admit this to my _mother_ … I… I fancy him.”

“You fancy your lecturer?” Jackie asked with an incredulous look. “Isn’t he a bit old for you?”

“He’s not too old, I don’t think. In his thirties.”

“Does he fancy you?”

“I don’t know. I think so, but I don’t know.”

“Isn’t it against some kind of rule to go out with your lecturer?”

“Yes, it is. Which is why I can’t do anything. But Amy says that once I’m no longer in his class, we could date if we… if we wanted to.”

“Do you want to?”

Rose nodded, biting her lip on a smile. “Yeah. I think I would. If he’d… if he’d have me.”

Jackie let out a long-suffering sigh and sat back in her chair. “Well, at least as a lecturer, he makes decent money. Can provide for you.”

“Mum! I’m talking about going to grab coffee, and you already have me _married_ to him!”

“It’s the logical progression of things, Rose,” Jackie pointed out in a reasonable tone. Rose just shook her head, her lips quirking up. Her mother was so predictable sometimes. 

“So tell me more about him. One of your art lecturers?” Rose shook her head. “Well, which class is he teaching?”

“Anatomy and physiology. My toughest class. He’s been tutoring me after class, too, because I was struggling.”

“Oh, I just bet he was tutoring in _anatomy_. Lots of hands-on lessons, are there?”

“ _Mum_!”

Jackie snickered while Rose tried to rid herself of her blush with sheer willpower. 

“No, everything has been perfectly proper. He’s done nothing at all that would get either of us into any trouble with the university,” Rose answered primly.

Her mother hmmphed. “Well go on, tell me about him.”

“He’s not from the UK, he’s from a country called Gallifrey, so he has an accent. A lovely accent.”

Jackie cocked her eyebrow at Rose, and she flushed again. “He’s tall, has gorgeous blue eyes and dark hair. Girls hang back after class to talk to him every day.”

“Oh, so he’s a playboy?”

Rose shook her head. “No, he doesn’t seem interested in any of them. They don’t take the hint, though.”

“But he seems interested in _you_?”

“I… yeah. I think so.”

“Well? What are you going to do about it?”

“Not sure. Finals are in a week, and I won’t be in his class anymore. I just don’t know…” she stammered. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to, you know, let him know I’m interested.”

“Why don’t you just ask him out after the class is done?”

“Oh, Mum. I don’t know if I can.”

“You’ve never been shy before, Rose,” Jackie says around a sip of her tea.

“I know. But Chris… Chris is different. I can’t explain it. Just… everything about him is different.”

Jackie cocked an eyebrow at Rose. “You call your lecturer by his first name?”

“It’s what he prefers, yeah. Something else that makes him different. He’s so… accessible, I guess is the word.”

“And finals are in a week?”

“Yeah.”

Jackie sat her mug down. “Well, Lord knows I have a checkered history with men, and you do, too. I have to admit, after Jimmy, I’ll probably always question your taste in blokes.”

Rose winced. She didn’t like being reminded of Jimmy and the colossal mistakes she’d made.

“But if you think this bloke is safe…”

“He’d never hurt me, Mum. He _wouldn’t_.”

“Then go after him. Make a play for him.”

“Yeah? You think?”

“Sure,” Jackie shrugged. 

“Will you stop throwing Mickey at me if I take up with another guy?”

Jackie sighed. “If you’re with another bloke and happy, I’ll stop with Mickey. But you should still be nice to the boy, Rose. He really does love you.”

“I know, and I love him, too. Just not… like that.”

“Not like you love this Chris bloke?”

Rose shook her head, phrasing her words carefully. “I wouldn’t say love, yet, Mum. Just that I’m not interested in Mickey the same way I am in Chris.”

“Then let this Chris know that you _are_ interested and see what he does. You might be surprised.”

She beamed at her mother. “Thanks, Mum.”

“That’s what mums are for.”

~*~O~*~

Chris sank back on the couch as Mrs. Jones wandered around the kitchen, making something that would require extra miles to burn off the calories. He’d finished his last Chem lecture for the term today and tomorrow would put an end to Anat/Phys. And an end to his tutoring sessions with Rose.

 _Rose_.

He sighed and wondered what on Earth to do about her. After next week’s final exam, he would no longer be her lecturer, she would no longer be his student. She’d be available, if he wanted. 

But he couldn’t have her, not in any real capacity. 

_Some things never come together_ , Chris told himself. _Some things aren’t meant to be_.

He scrubbed his face with his large hands and blew out a long breath. 

“Who is she?” Harriet called from the kitchen, startling him. He got to his feet and went to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Who is who?”

Harriet didn’t look up from her mixing bowl. “The girl who’s causing all those sighs and face rubs. Who is she?”

“What makes you think…”

She spun around, aiming her mixing spoon straight at his chest. Her free hand balled into a fist and perched on her hip. A drop of batter fell off the spoon and landed with a tiny _plop_ on the floor.

“Don’t give me that, young man. You’ve been my tenant for well over a year, and I’ve gotten to know you quite well. Someone has got you all out of sorts. Now, this may come as a surprise to you, but I’ve been around for a fair few years longer than you. I’ve seen many a man in love and you, my boy, have all the makings of a man in love.”

Chris wondered idly why Harriet calling him ‘my boy’ didn’t grate. 

He blew out a long breath, puffing out his cheeks and turning to lean against the counter. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Although probably not to people who don’t know you well.” She considered for a moment after she turned back to her bowl, stirring. “The entire campus knows that the Doctor is besotted with _Her_ , they just have no idea who she is. I know you’re the Doctor, but not who the girl is.” She waved off his surprise. “Donna likes to talk. So who is _her_?” 

“A student,” Chris replied, desolate. “My student. She’s in my Anat/Phys module.”

“She won’t always be your student, Chris,” Mrs. Jones pointed out reasonably, stirring in the milk. 

“Why would she want to be with me, though?” Chris wondered. “She’s young and beautiful and clever…”

“ _You’re_ young, younger than me, at least, and handsome and clever. Think of all the Leatherettes!”

Chris scowled at the use of the term ‘Leatherettes’, but didn’t acknowledge it. 

Mrs. Jones stopped mixing and turned to him, putting her hands on his arms and ducking her head to catch his eye. 

“You deserve good things, Chris. And not,” she interrupted him, “because you’re any prince. You deserve them because you’re Chris Foreman.”

“But I can’t ignore the fact that I’m the Prince Regent,” he protested.

“You also can’t ignore the fact that you’re mad about her.”

“I just wish…” he started, then trailed off.

Mrs. Jones prodded him, gently. “What do you wish?”

He heaved a deep breath. “That I wasn’t royalty. I’ve only hidden my identity because I don’t want special treatment, not because I’m ashamed of who I am. Now, though…” He sighed again, putting his hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face. “I wish I was just a normal bloke that could pursue the girl he wants.”

“No reason why you can’t,” Mrs. Jones said, sounding matter of fact. 

“I’m not a normal bloke; I’m the Prince Regent of Gallifrey.”

“Exactly.” She sounded smug.

Chris furrowed his brow at her, confused, and she rolled her eyes, huffing into the batter.

“Look, I’ve never known any royalty. The Queen doesn’t exactly have me over for tea.” Chris snorted. “But it’s my understanding that being royal gives you leave to do pretty much whatever you want.”

“That’s not…”

“Of course it’s true! I understand that there’s pressure for you to marry someone in particular, but look at Prince William! He married a commoner. You can, too.”

“But I’m not-”

“Are you a prince, or aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then go after the girl,” she advised him. “Make yourself - and her - happy.”

Chris nodded. Rose would make him happy, but he couldn’t keep her; no matter what, his time with her would end. Eventually, she’d be gone and he’d be stuck with a wife he didn’t want. 

So the question now was: would it be better to grasp a few fleeting moments of something wonderful before he went back to his life of rules, regulations, and responsibility? Or would it be better to live his life wondering ‘what if’ while he stared into the eyes of a woman he didn’t care about?

He’d be wondering ‘what if’ either way, he knew. 

Chris leaned over and pecked Mrs. Jones on the cheek, earning a satisfied smile from her. 

“Thanks.”

“Go get her.”

“I’ll start after exams are through.”

~*~O~*~

[Chris] 10/12/15 - 1:48pm: _I’m going to be a few minutes late to our session; sorry. Make yourself at home in my office and I’ll be right behind you._

Rose smiled down at the message on the mobile in her hand. Chris was thoughtful; one of the things she liked about him. 

Oh, hell. Why bother even denying it to herself? She liked _everything_ about Chris. He was warm, funny, kind, and clever. Not to mention dead sexy, with the most beautiful blue eyes she’d ever seen. He’d backed down willingly enough when he’d been wrong about Adam, and even that little bit of what she perceived to be jealousy had been appealing. 

She was so close to tripping and falling into love with him that it was alarming. 

The song she’d been listening to finished, and she selected another one as she walked across the quad to Shaw-Holloway Hall. The building radiated warmth and Rose shook snow out of her hair as she headed toward Chris’ office. 

The office felt strange without him there, like an empty stage without its players. She sat across from his desk and waited. Some people played on their mobiles or read to pass the time. Rose sketched. Flipping to a blank page, she hummed to the song, bouncing her foot while her pencil wandered over the page, just like her thoughts. 

The lines and swirls took shape on the page...a pair of hands that had become as familiar to her over the past few weeks as her own. 

She skipped the next few songs, settling on the Doctor’s latest dedication to _Her_ , an upbeat, catchy tune she had liked so much she immediately downloaded. 

She sang a few snippets of the lyrics, “ _My friends and family, they don't understand. They fear they'll lose so much if you take my hand. But, for you, ooh, you, ooh, I’d lose it all. Give me one good reason why I should never make a change…”_

 _“Baby if you hold me then all of this will go away_ ,” a rich baritone sang behind her. 

Rose jumped up and yanked her earbuds out. Her sketchpad slid off her lap.

“You scared me!”

Chris gave her a lopsided grin and bent to pick up the dropped sketchpad. Rose swallowed hard when he looked up at her, lost for a moment in his smiling blue eyes that drove her to distraction.

“You dropped something,” he teased, handing her the sketchbook, still kneeling beside her. 

“I… thank you,” she mumbled. 

“You like that song?” Chris asked, taking a seat behind his desk. 

Rose nodded. “I just heard it for the first time the other night,” she told him. “I listen to the radio when I paint. The DJ played it for his girlfriend, and I liked it so I downloaded it.”

Chris’ lips twitched. “For his girlfriend, you say?”

Rose nodded. “He never says who his girlfriend is, just dedicates a song to _Her_ every night that he’s on the air. His show has gotten really popular, so it’s a big mystery. Everyone on campus is trying to figure out who he is and who his girlfriend is.”

He grinned. “Become a bit of a game?”

She hummed in acknowledgement. 

Chris pursed his lips and nodded, still smiling a bit, almost indulgently. “Is that all he does? Play dedications to his girlfriend?”

“No,” she explained, “he talks most of the time. He’s dead clever, and makes sense – well, not always. Some of his rants about politics and whatnot are a little over my head. But he usually makes things easy to understand. Bit like you, actually.”

His eyes widened. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Her tongue came out between her teeth, and she was thrilled when he glanced down at it. “You’ve made Anat/Phys make sense to me. Probably to loads of people.”

Chris relaxed, leaning back in his chair and threading his fingers together over the burgundy cashmere of his jumper. She was reminded again of a lazy lion. “Well, I’m happy to hear that. Although I’m certainly not dedicating songs to my girlfriend. Don’t have one of those.”

Rose flushed, she could feel it heating her cheeks. “You could, though. You’ve got plenty of girls who would be willing to step in and fill that role.”

“Do I, Rose?”

His tone had changed, and her heart battered against her rib cage wildly. He sounded so… suggestive. Leading. Intent. His eyes held the same intensity as they bored into her.

Rose bit her lip, trying to tamp down the hope she felt swelling within her. The conversation she’d had with her mother came floating back to her. Six days. Six days, and he wouldn’t be her lecturer anymore.

“Yeah,” she nearly whispered. “I think… I don’t think you’d have any trouble finding a girlfriend. If you wanted one.”

He regarded her carefully, his lip quirked up, and she squirmed under his gaze. 

“That’s good to know,” he told her in the same low, intense voice, his eyes raking over her. 

Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to collect herself under his soft scrutiny, nearly able to _feel_ his eyes on her. 

“So, um,” she tried to change the subject. “The final is Tuesday…”

“Yes. Right,” he said, seeming to break out of his own reverie, shuffling papers on his desk. “I’ve got last year’s exam, when Dr. Constantine was the lecturer. Mine will be different, but the concepts are the same, so I thought we could go over it?”

Rose nodded her head. “Sounds good,” she smiled.

~*~O~*~

Chris drilled her with questions from Dr. Constantine’s exam, praising her when she got them right, correcting and encouraging her when she missed one. She was doing well, though - better than she thought she was - and he was proud of her. He’d known she would; the only obstacle to her success now was the actual test on Tuesday. If she kept her wits about her, she’d do well.

And be out of his class. 

Rose missed three in a row, twisting her hair tighter around her finger after each one. Chris soothed her. “You’re doing alright.”

“I’m not!” she insisted. “I’ve got to ace this exam! My first depends on it…”

“Should we take a break? Go back and revise the endocrine system? What else can I do? ”

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know. You’re doing everything you can. I’m just not getting it.”

“There’s another thing I could do.” He paused, waiting for her to catch his eyes and serious tone. “I could give you the answers.”

“Yeah, but you'd never do that,” Rose answered right away.

“No, but you could’ve asked. Never even occurred to you, did it?”

“Well, I'm just too good,” Rose joked. 

_Too good by far_ , Chris thought.

He paused to see if she _would_ change her mind, ask for the test, and her esteem only grew in his eyes when Rose said, “I think I’ll keep doing it this way, ta. A first wouldn’t feel as good if I didn’t really earn it myself." 

Chris beamed at her. “Fantastic.”

He kept quizzing her with questions from Dr. Constantine's exam, but his mind returned over and over to the revelation that Rose listened to the Doctor. Not only listened, but was a fan. He had to fight down a grin when he thought of how she’d been so sure that _Her_ was the Doctor’s girlfriend. 

_Oh, if wishing made it so_.

His mind continued to wander as she explained the form and function of the duodenum, her voice listing its four-part structure. He’d love nothing more than to have Rose with him, close to him. She was everything he’d always wanted in a woman: intelligent, kind, and genuine. That last part appealed to him a great deal. Rose was always Rose.

Quite unlike himself. Chris was not always Chris, not at all. He was leading two completely different lives, and Rose had no idea. Guilt nipped at his heels. 

He was so close to tripping and falling into love with her that it was alarming.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he asked, “Which of the following is a sign of inflammation? Dizziness, ataxia, calor, or impaired vision?”

“Calor.”

“Correct!” he smiled. “Which of the following does not release histamine? Neutrophils, platelets, basophils, or mast cells?”

“Um,” she thought for a moment. “Platelets?”

“Not quite. Platelets are capable of producing histamine, but usually let the basophils and mast cells do the heavy lifting.” He grinned while she jotted notes. “Neutrophils don’t produce histamine; they are known for phagocytic properties.”

“Not…releasing...histamine,” she muttered as she wrote, then looked up with a smile. “Got it.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Ready for the next one?”

She looked up at him, sticking her tongue between her teeth. His eyes went to it helplessly, his mind racing, unbidden, to how much he wanted to catch it with his own. How soft her lips would feel under his, whether or not she would taste as she smelled, how warm she would feel inside his arms.

“Bring it on,” she said, and for a wild, desperate moment, he thought she meant he should kiss her.

 _Calm down, Foreman_ , he chided himself. 

Another, traitorous little voice in the back of his mind whispered, _soon._

“Er, right,” he pulled himself out of his riotous thoughts. “So, um, where were we? Ah. Yes. The protein most directly involved with leukocyte rolling during diapedesis?”

“Integrins. No! Selectins!”

“You got it!” he cheered. 

Rose smiled, proud of herself, then looked at the wall behind him. “Shit! I mean, oops! We’ve gone over time, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he waved her off. “I owe you since we didn’t start on time.”

She gave him a confused grin. “You were only five minutes late. We’ve already gone over time by nearly ten minutes.”

“Do you have somewhere you need to go?”

She looked down at her watch, then back up at him. “No, not just yet,” she said. “I can stay, if you’re okay with that... if you want.”

 _Oh, he wanted, alright_.

“I’d like that,” he said instead, in a voice much more tender than he’d intended.  
Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “I’m going to miss our time together next term.”

She looked up at him, biting her lip on a smile, and he had the urge to rescue her bottom lip and inform her that the only one who would nibble it again would be him. 

“I’m sure we’ll see each other… around…”

“Running into you on a tour isn’t the same as this.” 

“At least your mobile would be safer.” She gave him a sly grin, then her words seemed to rush out. “How about I repay you with a drink at the Bad Wolf sometime? Not while I’m working, of course. I mean, you know, we could meet there, and get a drink, together.” Chris watched as she stammered and reddened and he wanted to snog her more than ever. Harriet’s advice came back to him. 

“Together sounds fantastic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHrLPs3_1Fs) is the song the Doctor plays for Her.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12  
_December 15, 2015_

 _Name the three smallest bones in the human body, and describe their function_.

Rose tapped her pen against the desk. She knew that the bones were in the ear, but she struggled to remember their names. An image of Chris’s rather unique ears came to mind, and she smiled as she wrote the answer. 

_malleus, incus, stapes. the three bones vibrate against the tympanic membrane and oval window, creating sound._

One down, thirty-four to go. 

Only a handful of students remained in the lecture hall when Rose finished up the last few questions. She sighed in relief before flipping back to the first page of the exam and going over every answer again. A few of her answers were flat out wrong, and a handful of others fell into the grey area. It remained to be seen how big that area was. She reviewed two of them that she knew were questionable, rubbing the back of her neck as if the answer was there and not just tension from the immense weight this exam held over her module. 

Before she started a third run-through, she folded the papers in half and wrote her name on the top. Rose walked up to the desk and handed her paper to AT David, who gave her a bright smile. She nodded, then hurried out of the hall, her bookbag swinging behind her, as if the exam she just turned in may chase her and bite her on the arse -- literally as well as figuratively. 

As distracting as she always found Chris’ presence, his unexpected absence was even _more_ distracting, and she’d had to force herself to concentrate on the exam in front of her. The past two sessions of exam prep had been incredibly beneficial, though, and she suspected that he’d been carefully grooming her to do well. 

She thought that maybe, just maybe, she _had_ done well. The questions had seemed less confusing this time, and she’d been more confident in her responses. She’d also not left any blank this time, and was proud of herself for that. At the very least, she wouldn’t miss any questions because she skipped them.

Her mobile went off, and she dug it out of her pocket to look at it. 

[Amy] 15/12/15 - 1:16pm: _how was it?_

Rose smiled. She really had gotten lucky in the flatmate department. Amy had been thoughtful all term, but most forgiving recently when Rose left a trail of mugs of tea around the flat.

[Rose] 15/12/15 - 1:17pm: _I don’t know. I think I may have passed._  
[Amy] 15/12/15 - 1:17pm: _I’m sure you did fine. lunch?_

She tapped out a message, telling Amy she’d meet her at their favorite cafe in fifteen minutes, then slipped her mobile back in her pocket and started in that direction. 

Amy greeted her with a hug a few minutes later, and Rose slipped into a seat across from her.

“So, you think you did okay?” Amy asked. 

“I hope so,” Rose said honestly, not really wanting to talk about it. 

Amy reached across and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure you did fine. Lord knows you’ve been revising for it like mad.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, then changed the subject. “Where’s Rory?”

“He’s proctoring the Chem 1 exam. It’s just you and me today. A flatmate date.”

Rose placed her order, a heaping plate of celebratory chips and some tea. Regardless of the outcome, her exams were done. One term closer to graduation. 

Amy turned back to Rose with a gleam in her eye.

“So. You’ve finished Anat/Phys.”

She nodded. “Unless I flunked, then I’ll have to take it again.”

“Oh, I doubt you flunked. But, you know, that frees you up…”

“Frees me up for what?”

“Don’t play coy, Rose Tyler. You know, to chase after the dreamboat.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be chased,” she suggested. “He has that already and hasn’t taken advantage.” Rose fiddled with the sweetener packets, lining them up by color.

“That’s because he’s waiting for you. I don’t think you’ll have to do much chasing, possibly any at all. He wants you, Rose. It’s just a matter of the two of you admitting it out loud and going for it.”

Rose wondered if Amy had been conspiring with Jackie Tyler.

~*~O~*~

Chris felt like a coward as he sat in his office during the last Tuesday of module while his students toughed it out in the lecture hall, taking their final.

He’d spent the last two tutoring sessions going over exam prep with Rose, doing his damndest not to give the exam away. Even though she refused, he’d still been tempted. 

In fairness, he’d been doing exam prep with the entire module as well, pulling a handful of questions from the actual exam to review with them, ostensibly to help them all succeed. And it was true, he _did_ want his students to do well, else it reflected poorly on him. But he was _much_ less concerned with how the rest of the module did. 

Rose’s was the only mark that mattered to him. 

Her nerves during the revising sessions had run so high, she’d chewed on her cuticles or bit her lip so hard, he’d worried she’d draw blood. Even his gentle encouragements had done little, garnering only a shrug or maybe a small, anxious upturn of her lips. In the past, she’d glowed under his praise when she latched onto an idea. The past two sessions, however, she’d merely given him a smile when he told her how brilliantly she was doing. 

As the day of the exam had neared, his nerves started matching hers until he knew, without any doubt, that there was no way he could sit in the lecture hall while she tested. Even if she might have needed a friendly face. 

So now he wasn’t just a coward, he was a _guilty_ coward.

But if she passed… if she _passed_... he’d be free to pursue her. He’d enjoyed the time with her entirely too much, and he was utterly addicted to her smile. He wanted to see that smile as often as possible. More than that, he wanted to be responsible for it. He wanted to be with her, for however long they had. However long she’d let him. Depending on the day, and the hour, he waffled between wanting to be with her -- Gallifrey be damned -- and wanting to run away, to avoid breaking his, and maybe her, heart. 

It was a lose-lose situation. 

Of course, all of this self-rumination would be for naught if she didn’t want him. 

No. Chris had been around long enough to know attraction. There had been too many lingering glances to leave room for doubt that Rose felt something. And her utterly charming suggestion of a drink at Bad Wolf rolled around in his mind constantly. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been propositioned during the term, suggestions ranging from the benign to so suggestive even Jack would have squirmed. The attraction was real. 

What if she was attracted, but still refused to date him? 

He sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. This round-robin had to end, and he bent back to his thesis notes. After ten minutes, he gave that up and turned to his laptop, pulling up a game of solitaire and letting his brain disengage. 

Thirty minutes later, a small knock on his door had him slamming the lid shut. But AT David stood in the doorway with a fistful of folded papers.  
“How was it?” Chris asked anxiously, realizing that he was asking a question that David couldn’t answer - ‘ _How was Rose?_ ’ “I expected you a little while ago.”

“Usual,” David replied, handing over the papers. “There were a couple of stragglers, and I didn’t have the heart to take their exams from them. Sorry about that.”

Chris was sure that at least one of the stragglers had been Rose, so he didn’t mind at all. 

“Need help grading those?” David indicated the exams with a nod of his head. 

He shook his head in response. “It shouldn’t be too bad, and I don’t have anything else to do this evening.” It was a lie, of course, he had the radio show to do at nine, but he wasn’t about to divide up the papers and hand them over, knowing that Rose’s paper may be in David’s pile. 

David shrugged. “I’m around if you need me.”

“I appreciate it,” Chris told him sincerely. 

The other man gave a wave as he walked out the door. As soon as he was out of sight, Chris dug through the papers to find Rose’s. 

With a deep breath and his red pen at the ready, he opened to the first page.

~*~O~*~

With the exception of Anat/Phys and Art History, Rose didn’t have any other written exams left, an upside of being an art major. So many of her co-workers at Bad Wolf had begged off work that Rose had plenty of extra shifts. As exhausted as she was after the brutal exam prep, she scooped up every shift she could, grateful for the extra money with Christmas creeping up.

Her mobile buzzed in her back jean pocket while she was taking the third-round drink order for a group of blokes out celebrating the end of term. She ignored it, just as she ignored their ribald comments about how she should join them. 

Rolling her eyes at their sophomoric jokes, she went to the bar and input the order. When it zipped off the screen, she pulled out her mobile. 

[Chris] 15/12/15 - 7:12pm: _Can you come by my office tomorrow?_

Rose’s heart stuttered in fear. Why would he want to see her? It had to be about the final. It had to be. Nothing else made sense. 

_Oh, God, I failed and he wants to tell me in person._

What if she cried? God, she couldn’t cry in front of him. Why wouldn’t he just let her look up the mark online like everyone else? So maybe it was good news then? 

“You okay, Rose?” Ianto leaned across the bar, looking both dapper and concerned. 

She nodded, drew a deep breath, and texted him back.

[Rose] 15/12/15 - 7:13pm: _sure. what time?_  
[Chris] 15/12/15 - 7:14pm: _whenever you’re free. I’ll be in the office most of the day._  
[Rose] 15/12/15 - 7:14pm: _around ten?_  
[Chris] 15/12/15 - 7:15pm: _see you then._

Rose slipped her mobile back, grabbed the heavy tray, and headed back for more abuse.

~*~O~*~

At ten minutes to ten, Rose paced outside Chris’ office. She kicked herself for not suggesting nine or even eight this morning. It wasn’t as if she’d slept much last night, tossing and turning in nervous anticipation. Doing her best to relax her shoulders, she stopped and knocked.

“Come in.”

Rose poked her head in to find Chris sitting at his desk, typing away on his laptop.

“Rose!” he said with a smile, clambering to his feet. 

She returned his smile, a bit hesitantly. “Hi. Sorry I’m early…”

“No problem at all. I was just killing time until you got here.”

She hoped that was a good sign, he certainly didn’t looked concerned. In fact he looked fairly yummy in his cranberry-red jumper, the one that always reminded Rose of a dark claret. She shook her head, trying to concentrate. 

Chris cleared his throat. “Well, I guess you’re wondering why I called you here-”

“I’m guessing it’s about my exam,” she interrupted, trying not to sound as terrified as she was, the quiver in her voice probably giving her away. 

“Yes,” he said, his face a mask. “It’s about your exam.”

Rose sighed. “How bad is it?”

Chris reached over to his desk and plucked a paper off of it: Rose recognized her loopy signature. He held it out to her. “See for yourself.”

She stared at him, then down at the paper. Folded on the inside of her paper lay the answer to the question that had kept her up all night. Folded on the inside of that paper was the answer to whether or not she’d get her first. 

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._ She chanted to herself.

With trembling fingers, she took the paper, her fingers brushing his and that little jolt almost made her smile.

Rose fumbled with it, then looked at the top of the paper. 

In bold strokes, there was a number written there. 

_78_

She was sure her heart stopped while she tried to absorb what that number meant. 

“I passed?” she murmured, looking back up at Chris. 

“With flying colors,” he confirmed, beaming proudly.

“I did it?”

“You did it, Rose. You did it.”

Rose squealed and launched herself towards him, flinging her arms around his shoulders. Chris put his own arms around her waist, hugging her tight, then lifting her off the ground a little with a laugh. 

“I did it! I did it!” 

He laughed as he set her back down, keeping his arms around her waist. 

“Oh, thank you, Chris! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was my pleasure, Rose. I’m so proud of you.”

Her heart felt as if it were about to burst, and she hugged him again, tight. He let out another little laugh at her exuberant display. 

Then her hands were on either side of his head and her lips were pressed to his. 

It had started as a hard smash of her mouth against his, but she softened almost at once, enjoying the feel of his lips against hers. Her hands carded his hair and she slid her lips across his gently, almost teasingly. Her heart slammed in her chest with joy -- now, not because of the test. Now she was overwhelmed with the taste of him, the feel of him in her arms, his intoxicating scent surrounding her. 

Then, like a shot, it occurred to her.

He wasn’t kissing her back. 

Pulling away immediately, she took a horrified step back. “I’m - I’m sorry…”

“Rose,” Chris started, but she raised her hand and shook her head. 

“No, that was… that was inappropriate and I shouldn’t have done it. I’m… I’m sorry…”

“Rose, it’s not --”

“I have to go,” she sputtered, stumbling for the door. “Thanks, um, thank you for all of your help. And I’m sorry.”

“Rose, listen... Rose! _Rose_!”

She heard his voice behind her as she ran down the corridor, but she didn’t turn back. She needed to leave, needed to get away from him. She’d made a fool of herself, had let her control slip, and now she’d ruined everything. Amy had been wrong, he didn’t want her. 

Stupid. _Stupid stupid stupid_.

Tears of humiliation she’d been expecting all along fell, leaving freezing cold tracks on her cheeks, but she barely noticed. She’d expected to leave the building in shame and disgrace, but she hadn’t expected it to be because she made an arse out of herself. 

Rose ran the entire distance to her flat.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
_December 16, 2015_

Rose let herself into her mum’s flat and tossed her keys hard on the entry table. The telly was off, a sure sign that Jackie wasn’t home. Good. She needed a little quiet for a while, a place away from Chris and constant reminders of the arse she’d made of herself a few hours before. Her phone had been blowing up with texts and calls from him, but she was too humiliated to check them. 

She dropped her bag and collapsed on her childhood bed, curling onto her side and letting the tears come. 

She never should have listened to her mum or Amy, _especially_ Amy. Chris wasn’t interested in her, never had been. His reaction to her kiss was enough to prove _that_ conclusively. He wanted to see her succeed in his module, but to him, she was just another one of those girls who hung back after class every day to flirt with him. Worse, actually, because she’d stepped over the line and actually put her _hands_ \- well, _lips_ \- on him. 

A thought flitted into her mind and she stilled, paralyzed with fear. What if he told someone? What if he went to the administration and reported her behavior? She could be thrown out of uni in disgrace, never able to finish her degree. She really _would_ have to go to beauty school, then. 

A little voice in the back of her mind insisted that she was being ridiculous, that he wouldn’t do such a thing to her, not after he’d worked so hard to help her get a decent mark in his module. But Rose wasn’t in any mood to listen to logic, not even from herself. 

She buried her face into the pink of her pillow and wept. 

She woke a short time later, covered with a blanket that she didn’t remember pulling out, disoriented by her surroundings. She sat up, trying to get her bearings. Shuffling sounds came from the kitchen, and she covered her face with the pillow. She didn’t want to deal with her mum just yet. Maybe Jackie hadn’t heard her?

Jackie’s head popped around the corner. “Rose? You awake yet?”

 _So much for that._ “If I wasn’t, I would be now,” she grumbled. 

“C’mon.” Jackie threw the blanket covering Rose to the side. “Up and at ‘em. It’s too early for bed, and I made bangers and mash for tea.”

“Sounds good,” she muttered, not meaning it at all. 

Jackie either didn’t notice or didn’t care, turning and going back to the kitchen in a swirl of pink tracksuit, expecting Rose to follow.

Rose took a mug down when she got to the kitchen, pouring some of the tea her mother had made for her, mixing in the sugar and milk. Jackie bustled around, blathering about plans for Christmas and the possibility of them going to see Mo on Boxing Day. 

They carried the plates and mugs into the dining room, setting the table before sitting down. “Well, go on,” Jackie instructed. “Tuck in.”

Rose did as told, helping herself and filling a plate. She ate silently, lost in her own thoughts while her mum prattled about estate gossip. She nodded and hummed an agreement where she felt it was called for, until her mum fairly slammed her fork down onto a half-empty plate. 

“Alright, little madam, out with it. What’s wrong with you? I had expected you to be all excited about the end of term like you always are, not this sad sack. What the hell happened?”

Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes and she tried to blink them away before her mother could see. Jackie was quicker than that, however, and was out of her chair like a shot, wrapping a crying Rose in her arms, guiding her out of the chair and into the living room. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Oh, my baby. Tell me what’s wrong.”

They sank onto the couch and Jackie lay her head against Rose’s hair as she sobbed into her mum’s chest, Jackie stroking her back soothingly. 

“Did you fail a module?”

Rose shook her head. “No, I had good marks in everything.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I kissed him,” Rose blurted, then immediately began crying harder. Jackie didn’t say anything for a minute, just let her cry, and Rose was grateful. 

After a few minutes, her mum asked, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes!” Rose cried, then poured out the whole story while Jackie listened, occasionally pulling a hair out of her face and turning once to grab a tissue. 

Rose got to the end of her tale, and her tears came back with a vengeance. “I did like you and Amy said, I kissed him, and he didn’t kiss me back. Looked at me like I was...like I was _mad_ or something. And then I ran away...I never want to see him again! I’m so humiliated, Mum.”

“Rose, love, you probably took him by surprise. That’s all.”

Rose shook her head. “You didn’t see his face. He was totally put off.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t,” Jackie comforted her. “No man in his right mind would be put off when a beautiful woman kisses him. Unless...is he gay?”

“No, Mum!” Rose insisted. 

“Then he’s dense and you’re better off without him.”

“I thought that he and I were…” Rose trailed off and stared at the wall behind Jackie’s head. “But obviously I got it wrong.” Fresh tears overtook her, and she let herself cry for a moment before she tried to finish the thought. “I had thought that he felt the same about me as I felt about him. I was _so sure_ , but I was wrong.”

“I don’t think you did, Rose,” Jackie countered. “I think he just wasn’t expecting you to kiss him.”

“That can’t be right.”

“Mums are always right,” Jackie said, then rolled her eyes when Rose gave her a disbelieving, watery look. “Okay, maybe not _always_ , but most of the time. Either way, I don’t think he hates you.”

“He should.”

“Bet he doesn’t.”

Rose grabbed another tissue and dabbed at her eyes. 

“C’mon, love. You’ve got a few days home with me for Christmas, and I’m sure the whole thing will look different once you’ve got a little time to chew on it. Yeah? Let’s go finish dinner, and tomorrow we’ll go Christmas shopping.”

Rose nodded. She didn’t think her mum was right at all, she was sure that things would look just as dismal after Christmas as they did right now, but she couldn’t sit around and cry all the time, either. 

Jackie patted her cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, why don’t we sit down and finish our bangers and mash, and plan where to go tomorrow?”

~*~O~*~

Chris sat at his desk on Thursday afternoon feeling utterly bereft. The clock ticked past two, then two-thirty, and still he held onto the tiniest glimmer of hope that she’d come rushing in to his office, smiling and apologizing for being late. Of course, term was over; there was no need for her to be in his office.

He stared at the wall clock as the hour continued to tick away, angry and desolate.

He kicked himself for not chasing after her like he wanted yesterday. But a crying female student fleeing from his office with him in hot pursuit might cause larger problems for both him and Rose. So he watched her run, and hated himself for it. Instead he’d called and texted her several times. The texts had been insubstantial - another apology, a request to meet in person. None of them included what he really wanted to say, if he even knew what that was. 

But he’d gotten no answer, and felt wretched. 

He had replayed the scene over and over, each time flaying himself over what could have been. Why the hell hadn’t he responded? Every cell in his body screamed at him to kiss her as soon as he’d had her wrapped in his arms. She’d felt so _right_ there, so fucking _good_...his reaction didn’t make any sense. He’d been a coward, standing there like a fucking ice-sculpture when she kissed him. Ironic, since he’d had several dreams -- a few in this office -- that revolved solely around snogging one Rose Tyler...and more. But in reality, he buggered it up. No, not just buggered it, he’d done worse. He’d humiliated and hurt her. If only he could go back, he’d get it right.

No wonder she thought he didn’t want her. 

Chris groaned and buried his face in his hands. 

That morning, he’d caught a glimpse of her confident backwalk out on a tour over by the Cafe. In what could only be called a speed-walk, he scurried back to his office so he’d be right there when she passed by, before he thought better of it. What was he going to do? Interrupt her tour and, in front of a group of freshers and their parents, pull her aside and say ‘ _sorry I didn’t snog you until you couldn’t see straight, can I try again?_ ’ 

If he opened up the door and saw her, he’d be afraid he’d lose all control and not ask permission, but she hadn’t even come by his office. He wondered dismally if that was by design. The thought made him even more miserable, if such a thing were possible. 

Chris needed to fix this. He needed to talk to her and he needed to make her understand just how much he wanted her. 

He checked his mobile for messages, noting with a frown that there wasn’t anything from Rose. He decided to try to speak to her one last time before he resorted to plan B. 

He had no idea what plan B was, but he’d figure _something_ out. 

[Chris] 17/12/15 2:42pm: _I’m missing our time together today._

He hit send and stared at the little notification until it switched from ‘delivered’ to ‘Read 2:43pm’. He waited, but the little bubble with three bouncing dots, indicating she was typing a reply, never came. 

Chris groaned again, dropping his head to his desk.

~*~O~*~

The amazing smell of Harriet’s banana biscuits hit him as soon as he opened his door, and Chris couldn’t help but smile a little as he slid his bag to the floor.

“Mrs. Jones?” he called when he dropped his keys in the bowl on the table. 

Silence followed, and he was surprised that that saddened him. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to and, despite his mumbling and groaning about it, he’d gotten used to Donna and Harriet being around a lot of the time. 

He shrugged out of his jacket, laying it across the arm of his couch and plopped down, leaning his head against the back. Term was done for the next three weeks, time that he had earmarked months ago for his thesis. He needed to get his arse in the chair and start working.

He couldn’t give less of a damn. 

Chris had just started nodding off when he heard a key in the lock. Sitting up, he made his way into the kitchen to snag a biscuit before Donna got to them. 

She found him rooting around in the fridge for something to drink and hopped on the counter. 

“Rough day?” He didn’t answer, and she grabbed a biscuit, taking a bite. “Don’t stonewall me, Chris. I know something happened. You played a miserably sad song last night for _Her,_ when it’s been love songs all term.”

He just grunted an acknowledgement and opened a beer. 

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Might make you feel better…”

He sighed before he took a long drought of the beer he’d just opened, then he leaned against the counter across from Donna and stared at the bottle in his hands. She waited, silently. It was not an unusual tactic from her; she’d learned that if she let the silence linger, he’d fill it. 

“Rose kissed me. Yesterday,” he admitted.

“Oh, but that’s brilliant!” she enthused. 

He didn’t bother looking up at her, and Donna’s voice softened. “It’s not brilliant?”

Chris shook his head, still not looking up. 

“What did you do?” He didn’t answer, and she hopped down from the counter, crossing her arms. “Chris, you’re gone for this girl.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “Don’t deny it. You’ve been dedicating songs to her for over three months.”

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah.”

“So I ask again. What did you do?”

“Nothing. She kissed me, and I did nothing.”

Donna groaned. “Well, why the hell not?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted at her, then dragged a hand down his face in frustration. “I meant to. I didn’t expect for her to kiss me first, and I...I just froze,” he finished lamely. Then he sighed again. “She ran out of my office crying, and now she won’t answer my calls or texts.”

Donna gave him a shrewd look. “How many times have you called her?”

“Called once. Texted five times. Today."

“Alright, you have to stop that right now, before you terrify the girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if she’s feeling hurt or confused, she isn’t likely to talk to you right now, no matter how many texts you send.”

“I just want to apologize, to-”

“I know, Chris. And that’s fine. Great. I want you to. But you need to stop texting her all the time before she gets freaked out. Leave it for a bit. Let her think.”

He nodded, accepting Donna’s words. It was good to have a woman’s perspective.

“What if she never speaks to me again, Donna?”

“She will. She likes you at least as much as you like her.”

Chris drained the bottle, then set it down on the counter before turning back. 

“You miss her, I get it,” she sympathized, walking over to put her arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a hug. “You’ll be alright.”

He hugged her back, then released her and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’m...I’m not used to this. Women throw themselves at me in Gallifrey, you know?” Donna raised an eyebrow. “Not because I’m anything special, but because I’m the Prince Regent. They barely know me, and some never wanted to try; they want the title, not me. Not Chris. None of them know Chris.”

“But it was the opposite with Rose. She got to know Chris, with no idea about the Prince,” Donna said, understanding the irony. 

“Yeah. Rose...Rose got to know me and liked me anyway. I could be relaxed around her, I could be who I really am. And it was wonderful, but I fucked it all up.” He sighed. “Probably for the best.”

“What do you mean by that? How is this for the best?”

“Every relationship I’ve ever had has failed.”

Donna scoffed. “Every relationship fails until you find the right one, Chris.”

“No, it’s more than that. Every time I’m dating someone and feel like things are going well, something happens. They either leave or are taken from me.”

“Taken how?”

He eyed her speculatively. “Do you remember the lab fire?”

“Of course I do. It just happened.”

“Not that one,” he said, shaking his head. “The one a few years ago. A woman died in it.”

“Oh, yes. I remember that.”

“The woman who died was my girlfriend, Jabe.”

Donna put her hand to her throat, shocked, then reached out for Chris’ arm. “Oh, love. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded. “Yeah, we weren’t too serious, but it was still awful.”

“I can’t imagine.” She gripped his arm. “But you can’t let one freak accident keep you from finding love again.”

He grunted in response, looking away, and Donna stepped back. “You didn’t fuck it all up. We’ll fix this.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“There’s a ball coming up,” she reminded him.

“I want nothing to do with that,” he said promptly, thinking of his veiled offer to dance with Rose and how that was utterly botched now.

“Yes, you do. Because she’s WCU staff, so she’s invited. You’ll see her there.”

Chris shook his head. “You don’t know that. And she won’t come if she thinks I might be there.”

“She will,” Donna insisted.

“What makes you so sure?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You doubt my abilities?”

He didn’t. He really didn’t. “Thought you might be going with Lee McAvoy.”

Donna blushed. “He has a work thing, but said he might show up later. So I could use an escort. That way I’m on the scene to help you talk to her.”

Chris nodded, and Donna went on. “Besides,” she smirked. “What better place for a prince to declare his love than at a ball?”

“Donna…” he warned, but she just gave him an unrepentant grin and snagged another biscuit.

~*~O~*~

It was with a satisfying sigh of relief that Rose shut the door of her flat behind her. The thought of one more hour of her mum’s hovering was more than she could bear. Rose leaned against the door with her eyes closed and thought she might finally start to make sense of all of the turbulence that occupied her mind.

The turbulence that began and ended with Chris.

Rose shook her head, disappointed that she couldn't physically shrug away the sadness and humiliation that had been plaguing her thoughts since Chris rejected her.

_You’ve been through worse than this, Rose. Time to get a grip._

She dropped her bags on the armchair and headed for the kitchen. Rose turned on the faucet to fill the kettle, finding comfort in the routine that had been denied her during her visit home. Her mum insisted on doing things herself during the Christmas holiday and it just added to her feelings of unrest.

Rose wondered how she was going to get through the next term without running into Chris because she was certain she couldn't bear the humiliation of seeing him again. She wanted to kick herself for her own stupidity, and she was angry that she had allowed herself to be influenced into making a move on him.

The tea kettle startled her with its inevitable shrill whistle, interrupting her self-loathing. She pulled it away from the heat and poured the boiling water into her mug. 

_I wish I had left things as they were. We were friends. It was foolish to ever think he wanted to be my boyfriend. He was much more important than that, and I ruined it_ , she thought as she waited for the tea to brew.

After adding milk and sugar, Rose headed back into the lounge and flopped on the sofa with a sigh. She didn’t feel like doing anything, not even painting. She was angry. Angry at Chris, angry at herself, and most of all she was angry at-

“You’re back sooner than I expected!” exclaimed Amy, her gleaming red hair rippling as she shrugged out of her coat. “I thought you’d come back closer to New-”. She dodged a sailing throw pillow as it made its way through the air, just missing the target of her head.

“What the bloody hell was _that_ for, Rose?” she cried, eyes blazing in indignation.

“I’ll tell you what it’s for,” retorted Rose, leaping to her feet. “It’s for ‘That bloke’s got it bad for you, _Rose_ , ’ and ‘All you need to do is make your move, _Rose_ ,’ and oh, ‘Professor Dreamboat is utterly _gone_ on you, _Rose_.’ That’s what it’s for!”

“He _is_ gone on you, Rose! What the hell happened?”

“He’s _not,_ ” Rose sniffled. “He’s not gone on me. I don’t know what I was thinking. What was I ever thinking, listening to any of you? Especially _you_ , Amy.” Her eyes were resentful, angry.

Amy looked at her flatmate, unintimidated by the expression in her eyes. “Tell me what happened, Rose. I’m not wrong about this, I’m telling you, I’m not and-”

“I kissed him!” she spat. “That’s what happened. I kissed him and he didn’t kiss me back. _You _told me to make a move and now I’ve never been more humiliated in my life and it’s all ruined!” Rose began to sob.__

__Amy rushed to her friend and drew her into her arms. “I’m sorry, Rose. Really I am. What did he say?”_ _

__“I-I don’t know. I was apologizing for being so stupid and he was calling my name but I just had to get out of there. He just froze when I kissed him, Amy. Like a statue. I was so stupid, so wrong.”_ _

__“You weren’t stupid, Rose. Maybe you just surprised him. He probably wasn't expecting you to kiss him and it surprised him and that’s why he froze.”_ _

__“No more, Amy. You sound just like my mum! No more excuses. He didn’t want me to kiss him and that’s that. He probably just wants to soothe my hurt feelings so we can go back to like it was before and that’s why he’s been texting me and calling me.”_ _

__“He’s been trying to talk to you, Rose?” Amy shook her head. “That’s not what a bloke does when a woman has made unwanted advances towards them.”_ _

__“You weren’t there, Amy. He was embarrassed. He’s probably just being kind because his manners are so….posh.”_ _

__“Alright, Rose. I have my opinions about what happened and I’m sticking to them. But I’m not gonna push them on you when you’re so convinced that he doesn’t like you that way,”_ _

__“Good, ‘cause I know I’m right.”_ _

__“You may be right, Rose. But I have a perfect way to wipe that sad look off your face and take your mind off your problems. ”_ _

__“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked Rose sulkily._ _

__“You’re going to forget all about your problems and go to the Founders’ Ball with Rory and me on New Year’s Eve.”_ _

__“Not on your life, Amy. Besides, I’ve got nothing to wear.”_ _

__“Oh yes, you do.” Amy enthusiastically grabbed her friend’s arm, dragging her towards her bedroom. “Come on!”_ _

__“I’m telling you, I don’t want to go, Amy.”_ _

__“I don’t care what you told me, Rose. I’m not about to let you shut yourself in here with nothing but the telly and sad moods to keep you company.”_ _

__Rose reluctantly followed Amy to her room. “But _he_ might be there.”_ _

__“So what if he is, Rose?” replied Amy with a defiant smirk. “Might as well see what he’s missing out on.” She reached into her closet and pulled out a garment in a zippered bag. Amy quickly unzipped the bag and pulled out the dress with a flourish. “Especially if you’re wearing _this_.”_ _

__Rose’s eyes narrowed at the pale blue confection her friend proudly displayed. “You may as well stow that dress, Amy. I’m not going and that’s the end of it.”_ _

__“It’s not the end of it. This dress is perfect for you and you’re _going to go_.” Amy’s own eyes narrowed at her friend’s, as if daring her to challenge her._ _

__“Where did you even get a dress like that, anyway? It’s _definitely_ not you.”_ _

__“It’s my sister’s. She’s blonde, like you. Which is why it’s perfect for you, Rose.”_ _

__Rose stared at the lovely gown her friend held aloft. She knew it was far more expensive than anything she could ever dream of purchasing for herself._ _

__Amy could tell her friend was tempted by the dress. “Come on, try it on. I bet it’s a perfect fit and you won’t be able to resist an opportunity to wear it.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NQtfOfb8pI) is the song the Doctor played for Her.
> 
> Happy Halloween!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  
 _December 23, 2015_

Once upon a time, Christmases in Gallifrey had been magical. The holiday season began with the tree lighting in the royal courtyard, a seventy-five foot Gallifreyan spruce with blue-green needles and dazzling white lights. The spicy smell of pine would linger in the palace deep into January. Holiday galas were held across the country. In the palace, there was a staff party and gift exchange leading up to an intimate family dinner on Christmas Eve. Even after his father died, the Queen had insisted that the palace be filled with life and laughter. 

The magic for Chris melted away after his mother’s death as if suddenly he could see the strings of LED bulbs, not the fairy lights of his imagination. 

Stepping off the plane to a bitter wind and snow piled high, Chris tugged the collar of his coat up. Even though he hadn’t called ahead, he wasn’t surprised to see Jack waiting outside the car for him. He ducked into the SUV and shook off the blowing snow. 

“Merry Christmas, Highness,” Jack said, as he joined him in the car. “We were surprised to hear you were coming home to celebrate with us. Trying something new this year?” 

“Something like that,” Chris muttered, staring out the window as the motorcade left the snowy tarmac and headed towards the palace. 

Hopping on a plane to Gallifrey had been a snap decision made more out of a need to get away than come home. With term over, there were no lectures or labs to distract him. Even the radio program had been put on hiatus until mid-January. For days after the incident with Rose, Chris wandered his flat like a trapped animal. His thesis notes sat on his desk calling and taunting him in equal measure. After an hour of writing he would ball up the page and toss it into an overflowing bin. None of his equations balanced and words escaped him. 

That wasn’t it, though. The loss of Rose left _him_ imbalanced, and so he ran back to Gallifrey knowing he wouldn’t find what he was looking for, but hoping all the same. 

“There’s a gala ton--” 

“No.” Chris didn’t take his eyes off the passing countryside.

“Oh-kay,” Jack said, shifting in the seat next to him. “Want to --” 

“No.” 

“Well, this is fun.” Jack sighed and tried again. “How long do you plan on staying?” 

“I don’t know, ‘til Boxing Day. Maybe later.” 

“You probably should know that your uncle has taken over the family holiday traditions. He has scheduled the staff party for tonight. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, he’s invited a few ‘friends and acquaintances’ to the palace. They will arrive at -”

“Cancel them.” 

“Highness --” 

Chris turned and glared at Jack. “Are these _friends_ anything like the group I happened upon the last time I was home?” 

Jack’s raised eyebrows gave him his answer. 

“Cancel it. And dismiss the staff on Christmas Eve. We don’t need anyone working, they should be with their family.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me.” 

“No.” 

“Excuse me?” Chris asked. 

“I said no.” Jack repeated, his jaw set. 

“And what would that mean?” 

“It means no, Highness. No, I’m not going to dismiss the staff just because you’re in a bad mood and don’t want to see anyone.” Chris crossed his arms and hid his curled fists. Still wound up, Jack pointed a finger at his chest. “ _You_ don’t get to fly in without notice and start playing Prince because something about your other life is bothering you. Some of the palace staff _choose_ to work on Christmas Eve; whether it’s because of a need for wages or company. Forgive me my impertinence, _Your Highness_ , but you don’t get to take that choice away from them.”

Only the car engine filled the silence. 

“Are you done?” Chris asked.

Jack sat back and straightened his uniform jacket. “Yes.” 

“Fine.” 

Jack cocked his head. “Fine, what?” 

Chris sighed. “You’re right. I’m being a jackass. Offer the staff the night off, but don’t demand they take it. If they want to stay, they can stay. I still want my uncle’s soiree cancelled, however.” 

Jack smirked. “Of course. And for the record, I never called you a jackass. That would be grounds for banishment, I believe.” 

“Damn right.” 

Wilfred stood at the door waiting for him when he got out of the car, and Chris gladly downed the glass of whiskey his valet presented to him on a silver platter.

~*~O~*~

All-in-all, Chris had accomplished what he came to Gallifrey for. Between the various obligations that became his when he touched down and the additional ones he took upon himself, much of his days and nights were occupied. When he had idle moments, his eyes strayed to his still-silent mobile, and his thoughts to an Estate in southeast London. He had known when the term ended that he wouldn’t see Rose as often, but he never expected to go without so abruptly. He also never expected to be as affected by her absence. She had become that itch, the one that came out of nowhere and you couldn’t reach. 

And it was burning hot as he walked down the stairs to Wilfred’s apartments. In one hand he held a bottle of scotch, in the other, a box that he hoped would go a long way towards a debt he owed. 

Wilfred looked tired but pleased when he opened the door. For a moment, Chris’ heart clenched at the thought of the palace -- no, the world -- without Wilfred, but shut down that line of thinking. It was Christmas Eve, a time of new beginnings, not endings. 

They settled by the hearth, Chris again leaving the rocker for his valet. Wilfred handed him a drink and Chris exchanged it for the box he carried with him. 

“What’s this, your highness?” 

“Christoph, please, Wilfred. And it’s a gift. For you.” 

Wilfred loosened the hastily tied ribbon and lifted the cover. He inhaled sharply when he realized what it contained. 

“Christoph, no!” 

“Yes, Wilfred. It’s yours. Should have been yours years ago.” 

Wilfred lifted the fob watch and stared at it wide-eyed. Years of mishandling had broken the gears, the watch’s hands frozen at nine o’clock, but that didn’t matter. It hadn’t worked when his father carried it so many years ago, either. Might not have worked when Chris’s grandfather carried it. 

“You’ve been like a father to me, going on thirty years now. I _want_ you to have it, and when the time is right, you gift it back to me. As a father should to his son.” 

Wilfred nodded, eyes glistening in the firelight. Pleased, Chris sat back and smiled into his drink, politely ignoring Wilfred wiping his cheeks and clearing his throat. 

“Well, now that I’ve gotten you alone, maybe you can tell me what’s on your mind,” the old man asked.

“Don’t know what you mean, Wilfred.” 

“I think you do, son. I've known you since your first nappy, I can tell when something's bothering you." 

Chris sighed and stuck his feet out towards the fire. Where to begin? 

“What’s her name?” 

Chris snapped his head to give Wilfred a sideways look. 

“Hmph. Don’t have to be a clairvoyant to see through you. Always knew when your father had a row with your mother. He’d have the same faraway, tortured look in his eye that you’ve been sporting the past few days.” 

Chris ran a hand over his face, expecting to feel the scruff he’d become accustomed to in London. The angles of his cheeks felt strange under his fingertips, foreign almost. 

“Rose. Her name is Rose…”

~*~O~*~

Mornings came late in Gallifrey, but when the sun rose it glinted off the snow pack. Chris helped himself to more bacon, knowing he’d run it off later that day in the gym. He had taken his plate into the East Room, the first-floor room that received the most sunlight in the morning. Even after thirty years, it still felt like his father. One wall held Thomas’ large collection of antique guns, the shelves below boasted his father’s eclectic selection of first edition books. The overstuffed chairs remained frozen in position, and may have still smelled like his father’s pipe tobacco. A large bank of windows overlooked the snow-covered lawns that sloped down to the shoreline. 

Chris came here in the morning for the view and the quiet. Leaving with an essence of his father was always a bonus. 

Seeing his uncle leaning against a side table was an unfortunate discovery. 

“May I have a word, Christoph,” his uncle said. It was a demand, not a request, and Chris bristled a little.

“Of course, if you do not mind me finishing my breakfast while it is still hot.” Chris sat on a chair, feigning a casualness that was not there. Chris hadn’t been alone with Saxon since he had cancelled his uncle’s ‘very important’ holiday affair. A glance at the other man’s rigid stance and clenched jaw told him that his uncle’s displeasure over the issue hadn’t passed. “What do you wish to speak to me about?” 

“I understand you passed a family heirloom to one of the servants.” Chris kept his eyes on his plate, stirring his eggs, suddenly interested in separating them from the smoked salmon. Saxon continued. “You must take it back.” 

The snort came out before he could help it. “I am sorry, Uncle. Are you suggesting that the Prince Regent recall a gift?” 

“This is no laughing matter, Christoph. You have crossed the line with the palace staff. Now, each one is going to expect their own piece of the royal family.” 

“Wilfred is _part_ of the royal family, Uncle. At least to me.” 

“And there is your problem, Christoph.” 

“My _what_?” Chris put his plate down, no longer hungry. 

“Your problem,” his uncle repeated. “You are so sensitive, so passionate, so _nice_ you don’t have the requisite nerve for this position.” 

Chris crossed his arms and scrunched his nose. “Sensitive, maybe. Passionate, I suppose. But do not ever, Uncle, mistake that for _nice_.” He took a step towards him, enjoying watching his uncle swallow hard. “As for nerve, well, you just try to get in between me and Wilfred, or any other member of this devoted staff, and you will see my nerve. I warned you once this fall. Consider this your second. You will not get a third.” 

He turned and walked out of the East Room as the sun hit the snow, turning it into a blanket of diamonds.

~*~O~*~

_December 30, 2015_

Chris climbed up the stairs to his flat, not even bothering to brush off the dusting of snow on his shoulders. He’d had a miserable day - strike that, a miserable week. Against Donna’s advice, he’d texted Rose once a day ever since arriving home from Gallifrey two days ago. There’d been no response. He’d also taken a casual stroll to the Art Department at lunch to see if she was there. The building stood empty. In desperation, he finally did what he swore he’d never do and violated her privacy by looking up her student profile online and searching for her address. He was one step away from full stalker behavior and he knew it. The only address listed in the database, however, was Jackie Tyler of the Powell Estate. Well, Rose hadn’t lied about that. 

Unlike him. 

Well, he supposed he hadn’t _lied_ exactly. He _had_ told her that he was from Gallifrey. He just never told her that he was the _Prince Regent_ of Gallifrey. 

It was probably for the best, he supposed. She likely would have reacted one of two ways. Become intimidated by him and leave or stay and become one of those giggling girls - either here or at court - who sought his attention constantly.

Neither option was acceptable. He wanted her to get to know him, yes, and he wanted to be with her. But he wanted to be genuine with Rose, he wanted to be himself. Not the prince. 

Didn’t matter now; it was all academic. She’d run away, and wouldn’t return his calls or texts. For all intents and purposes, she was out of his life. 

He felt like absolute shit just thinking about it. 

Donna’s laughter spilled out of his flat and for one crazy moment his heart soared, thinking Rose might have come to him. 

Finding Jack sprawled on his couch with Donna and Harriet giggling like schoolgirls on either side of him angered him more than it should have. 

“Your Highness,” Jack said, jumping to his feet. “I mean, Christoph. Chris.” 

Jack’s discomfort took some of the sting out Chris’ disappointment. He considered letting him suffer a little while longer, but didn’t have the heart for it. 

He waved a dismissive hand. “Sit down, Jack. Donna and Mrs. Jones know about me.” 

The bottle of scotch was tucked behind the line of red wines, but he fished it out, needing something stronger than a mild Bordeaux. His guests shook their heads when he held it up to them, so he poured himself a couple of fingers, neat. 

Jack remained standing until Chris collapsed into a side chair in an extremely un-prince-like fashion. After a long drink, surrounded by silence, he felt fortified enough to ask. 

“What are you doing here, Jack?” 

“I brought your tux.” He nodded at the garment bag draped over the dining room chair. Chris shook his head. In his haste to leave his uncle, he had forgotten and left it behind at the palace. 

“I asked Wilfred to ship it.” 

“And I brought it. I was happy to come, Highness.” 

The formal address, which usually grated on him anyway, felt akin to pouring the alcohol in his hand over an open wound. 

“Knock it off, Jack,” he complained. “Chris or Christoph when I’m here. Please.” Something in his eyes must have convinced Jack because his friend nodded and changed the subject. 

“I must say, Chris, you have _lovely_ neighbors.” Chris rolled his eyes when even Harriet blushed at Jack’s compliment. “They explained that the tuxedo would be used for a ball.” Chris grunted an agreement, and Jack gave him a shrewd look. “I was surprised to hear you had agreed to go, knowing your usual reluctance to dance.” 

“I’m sure you were.” 

“Miss Noble -”

Chris was further annoyed to see Donna flush. “Please, call me Donna. If Chris doesn’t need formality, I don’t either.” 

“As you like,” Jack smiled and winked at her. “Donna says that you are accompanying her.” 

“Well, only as friends. I have my eye on someone else at the ball.” Donna added, she thumbed in Chris’ direction. “That one’s not my type, too broody and regal for my tastes. Oh!” She said, sitting up straight. “Jack! You should come with us! You can be there for Chris if he needs help with…” 

“So!” Chris interrupted hastily, “As we were saying, Donna and I are going to the Founders’ Ball together on New Year’s Eve. And yes, she’s my friend.”

Ignoring him. “Splendid idea, Donna. As Chris knows I love a good ball. I’d be honored to go as his plus one.” 

Chris rolled his eyes, Donna and Harriet snorted. 

Harriet turned a little to face Jack. “So, are you a prince as well?”

“Oh, no, no, not me. I’m Captain of the Guard.”

“Well that sounds lovely,” Harriet cooed. Chris snorted into his tumbler. “And I’m sure you do a remarkable job.”

“I like to think so,” Jack preened.

Chris drained his glass in one long swallow and got to his feet. “Ladies, I’m sorry to cut this latest neighborly visit short, but there are no doubt affairs of state that Jack needs me for. ” He got up to refresh his drink.

“Oi! Just because Jack is here doesn’t mean you get to get all royal and order us about!”

He heaved a heavy, steadying breath and poured a double this time.

“Not really,” Jack said with a lazy grin, leaning back on the couch. “Whatever went on between you and your uncle left quite an impression on him. He’s been positively subdued the past few days. And, well, the other issue you were concerned about,” Jack made a face that Chris couldn’t quite interpret. 

“Oh, you mean the wannabe Princess?” Donna interrupted. “The one that was here? She was a piece of work. What was her name? Rene? Renoir?” 

Chris swallowed the scotch, grimacing against the burn. 

“Reinette,” Harriet supplied. 

“She was all over Chris like a cheap perfume.” Donna added. “It was pathetic. Although, it was funny to see him pop her back into her coach and send her packing. No ball for _that_ princess.” 

Jack stood up and took Donna’s hand in his own. 

“Miss Donna Noble, your wit and charm are captivating.” He placed a kiss on her hand, crossing over and doling out another to Mrs. Jones. “Knowing Chris has such people here, caring for him, eases my concern.” 

That did it.

“Enough, Jack.” Chris shoved Jack aside and helped Mrs. Jones to her feet. He kissed her cheek as he led her out. “That’s for the banana bread you left yesterday.” 

“There’s chicken soup in the fridge. Good for the heart and soul, they say.” 

He would need entire vats of chicken soup to improve the current state of his heart and soul. He didn’t comment, though, merely nodded and watched her leave. 

Donna followed on her heels, laying a hand on Jack’s forearm. 

“I’ll get you a ticket, don’t worry. Both of you, my flat, tomorrow night, 8:00 pm sharp.”

Chris shook his head as he shut the door on them, and the flat lost some light and energy. His sighed.

“What is it, Christoph?” Jack asked as Chris poured himself another drink. 

“Doesn’t matter. What time’s your flight?” 

“Nice try, Your Highness. I think it’s only appropriate that your Captain of the Guard escorts you to the ball -- for security reasons, of course.” 

Chris shook his head and took a long swig of his drink.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15  
_December 31, 2015_

 

“Stop fidgeting,” Amy admonished. 

Rose let go of the skirt she’d been playing with, clasping her hands tightly in front of her for a moment instead, before reaching up to toy with her earring. Amy swatted her hand. 

“Stop _that_ , too. You look gorgeous. Take a deep breath.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this. I never should have come. He’s going to see me…”

“And if he _did_ come and _does_ see you, he’ll see how beautiful you are and realize what a mistake he made. But that hairdo took over an hour and if you ruin it, I’ll never forgive you.”

Rose dropped the hand that had been patting her hair absently and let out a shaky laugh. 

Amy put her hands on Rose’s upper arms and crouched a little to meet her eye. “Look. We talked about this, Rose. We talked about it for _hours_. You’re going to go in here with Rory and I, you’re going to meet Rory’s friend, Paul, and you’re going to have a wonderful New Year’s Eve with friends.”

“I told you. I’m not interested in meeting Paul.”

“And _I_ told _you_ that I didn’t care,” Amy said simply. “You’re being an idiot about Chris, but you haven’t stopped thinking about him, either. Maybe meeting someone new will help, although I doubt it.”

Rose sighed. This was a mistake. She’d rather be at home, in the flat, wearing yoga pants with a pint of ice cream and watching the telly. 

“Really, Amy. I should go…” she started, but Amy turned her around and frog-marched her into the ballroom, not allowing her to get another word out. 

Rose stopped resisting when they entered the grand ballroom, looking around with wonder instead. The room was covered in violet and gold. Gold fabric swags draped the walls, purple flowers covered every flat surface, the ballroom floor sparkled under a glittering light fixture. An ornate banner proclaiming the event to be the Founder’s Ball was strung up between two columns.

Her hand drifted to her hair as she scanned the elegantly-attired crowd. A broad-shouldered man made her catch her breath for a moment, until he turned and she realized he was a waiter. Chris wasn’t on the dance floor or around the bars, and she let out a deep breath. 

“See?” Amy chided, having apparently done the same thing. “Perfectly safe. C’mon, let’s go.”

The trio drifted to the refreshment table and collected flutes of champagne. Rose made small talk with Rory and _ooh_ ed and _aah_ ed over the women’s elegant gowns with Amy. As the alcohol did its work, Rose began to relax into the comfortable chit-chat.

After a few minutes, when Amy and Rose were giggling over a more unfortunate choice of dress, she heard Rory say, “Ah! Paul! Glad you’re here. You know Amy…”

The women turned around, and Rose gulped. Paul was tall and blonde, wearing a military uniform of some sort. His raised eyebrows and slight smile in her direction showed he might be interested, and Rose couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was.

She still wasn’t remotely interested. 

Paul offered a hand to each woman. “Amy, of course, charmed to see you again.” He bowed, then turned to Rose. 

Rory spoke up again. “Rose, this is Paul. He’s a captain with the Reserve Officers Training Corps. Paul, this is Rose, Amy’s flatmate. I’ve told you about her.”

“Ah, of course.” He took Rose’s hand and bent over it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, looking up from beneath his lashes with bright green eyes. 

Okay. Maybe she was a _little_ interested. Perhaps she’d be able to get her mind off of Chris, after all.

~*~O~*~

Chris hated tuxedos. All his life, tuxedos meant formal court events, and nothing good ever happened at those. He gave his tie another tug and ran his hand down his face, enjoying the scrape of the stubble. Another thing court life never let him get away with, not shaving. With a final shrug at his reflection, he left the bedroom and he and Jack stepped across the landing to Donna’s flat.

She flung the door open and posed dramatically in the doorway. Swathed in a long purple dress that complimented her ginger hair and fair features, Donna looked like a Roman goddess awaiting adoration from her followers. 

“You look lovely, Donna,” he said, noticing how the compliment flustered her. 

She smiled. “Stunning is a better description,” Jack added.

“Well, you boys clean up well, too.” 

Both men offered her arms, and they left the flat, off to the ball. 

One step into the hall was all it took. One glimpse of the banner and decorations and Chris began muttering, plagued by second thoughts. He stood against the wall, flanked by Donna and Jack. 

“This was a mistake.”

“Shut it. You’re here now. No going back.”

He let his eyes wander the crowd, instinctively seeking out blonde hair and brown eyes, but finding nothing. Grumbling, he took a sip of his champagne. 

“This is rather impressive,” Jack commented, taking in the room again. “I wouldn’t have expected a university to put together something so nice.”

“Oi!” Donna protested, and Jack’s face turned into a smile. 

“Of course, no amount of decorations or frippery could compare to the loveliness of the ladies in attendance; especially you, Ms. Noble.” Donna’s glare softened.

“Stow it, Harkness,” Chris growled. 

Donna swatted his arm. “You hush. He can pay me compliments if he likes.” 

Chris sighed, clearly outnumbered, and shot Jack one more warning look before giving an ‘as you were’ gesture. Jack gave a cheeky grin and set right back to his flirting with Donna. 

Donna stood on her toes looking over the heads of the gathering crowd. “I can’t see him anywhere. You’re taller than me,” she poked Chris. “Do you see Lee here?” 

Chris took another sip of his champagne and peered around the hall, looking for Donna’s latest interest, then stilled when he saw Rose. 

She was a vision. The dress Rose had chosen for the night was simple...strapless with a single embellishment at the empire waist. It fell to her knees in clouds of ice-blue chiffon, shorter than the dresses most of the other women had chosen to wear. Her hair was swept up, leaving her neck and shoulders bare except for a dainty necklace. She stood talking to Amy and the young man he knew to be Amy’s boyfriend, a bloke named Rory who was a Chemistry AT. As Chris watched, Amy nudged Rose, nodding towards someone on the dance floor, and muttered something. The two women burst into giggles, Rose ducking her head into Amy’s shoulder while the redhead covered her mouth on a laugh. 

She was happy, and it tore him apart. He wanted to go to her at once, to be a part of whatever it was that was bringing her joy. The other part of him was utterly terrified what her reaction to him may be after ducking his calls for two weeks. 

Indecision still gripped him when he saw a young man in a military uniform join the group and shake Rory’s hand. The young captain turned to Amy, shaking her hand, and then…the bastard actually bent over Rose’s hand. 

He clenched the champagne flute in annoyance. 

“Highn- Chris? What’s wrong?”

Chris nodded his head in Rose’s direction, and Jack and Donna followed his gaze until they spotted the small knot of people. As they watched, Rose gave a tight smile to the pompous little twit who was clearly peacocking for her. Then she laughed, and Chris swore he could hear the musical sound over the low rumble of the crowd around them. 

“Is that her?” Jack asked, nodding his head towards Rose. “The one you’re so taken with?”

“I’m not _taken_ with her,” Chris grumbled. 

Donna laughed. “You’re such a terrible liar.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, yeah. You’re not at all besotted with her. _That’s_ why you’ve spent the better part of two weeks in a funk. Because you’re _not_ taken with her. Sure.”

He shot a look at Donna and she grinned back up at him. He rolled his eyes and went back to looking at Rose, basking in the warmth and light she exuded, even from across the room, even when that light wasn’t directed at him. 

Donna handed her champagne flute to Jack, then clapped her hands together. “Right. I’m going to talk to her, then I’ll bring her back over here. Got it?”

“Donna, don’t. She looks happy.”

“She’ll be _happier_ if she doesn’t have this…” Donna made an inarticulate gesture towards him, “... _thing_ going on between the two of you.”

“Really, Donna. Don’t go. It’s not worth it.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not worth it?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Chris hastened to correct himself. 

Donna flipped her hair over her shoulder with a sniff. “Don’t care. Be right back.”

“ _Donna…_ ”

“Oi!” She spun around on her heel, aiming a finger at his chest. “You can order this one around,” she jerked a thumb at Jack, “all you want, but you told me to treat you just as I always would, and that’s what I’m doing. You’ve been miserable, and I’m not having it anymore. Now shut up, stay here, and let me go to talk to the girl and improve your life. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he muttered in a defeated tone, his eyes still on Rose. 

Donna left, waving over her shoulder at the two men. 

Jack drained the last of Donna’s champagne, then set the empty flute down. “Well. She’s a firecracker, isn’t she?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Chris grumbled.

“I don’t understand your fixation with this girl, Chris. She’s no prettier than any of the other ladies who have been selected for you.”

Chris intently followed Donna’s progress through the crowd, taking an anxious sip of champagne when his friend tapped Rose on the shoulder. Without looking, he answered Jack. “I disagree. She’s stunning, inside and out. I’m not attracted to women based solely on their appearances. If that were the case, I’d marry Reinette and have done with it.” 

“You need to do _something_ to get this girl out of your system.”

He did a quick about-face and his eyes bored into Jack’s, taking some small measure of comfort in the way his friend cringed. “Rose is not to be taken so lightly,” he snapped. “She is not some servant who’ll happily take a lover and forget him the next day. There’s more to her than that. She’s...she’s different.”

Jack swallowed. “I guess I just don’t see what’s so special about _this_ girl.”

“You’d have to get to know her. Which -” he cut Jack off when he looked as if he was about to volunteer, “- I am not suggesting you do in any way, shape, or form. You stay away from her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Chris.”

Chris gave a curt nod, then turned back to look at Donna and Rose conversing. The dancing couples blocked his view of Rose, but he could see Donna talking, using her hands to gesture as she so often did. 

“Fuck this,” he muttered, sitting his glass down on the tray of a passing waiter. “I’m going over there.”

“You said you’d wait…”

“I lied.” He turned back to Jack. “Stay here. I’ll send Donna back over. Do _not_ sexually harass any of my colleagues or… or do anything that could be embarrassing for me.”

Jack scoffed. “You know me better than that. I’m much more subtle.”

“See that you are.” Chris turned away from him, rolling his shoulders once and leaning his head to the side to crack his neck. “Right then. Time to set this right.”

~*~O~*~

“It was a mistake,” Donna said earnestly. “He never meant to embarrass or hurt you.”

“I understand that,” Rose allowed. “And it’s not his fault. It’s mine. I never should have kissed him. I’m mortified that it happened...even more mortified that he told you about it.”

Donna scoffed. “Of course he told me about it, he was terribly upset over what he’d done. Or what he _didn’t_ do.”

Rose shook her head. “No, he did the right thing. I was out of line.”

Donna sighed in exasperation. “Look, will you _please_ go talk to him so he can explain why he acted like a daft git?”

“I can’t!” she cried. “I couldn’t possibly face him, not after I-”

“Hello, Rose.”

Rose’s eyes slid closed, then opened up to face Donna again. Even without Donna smiling at something - some _one_ \- over her shoulder, she’d have known exactly who was there, just by that voice, that lightly accented voice. She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and turned around.

All her words failed her. 

He looked like he’d been born to wear a tuxedo. The fine black fabric pulled across his shoulders and tapered down to his waist, and Rose felt her mouth gaping like a fish. It took a few moments before she looked up to his face and felt it snap closed. 

His blue eyes peered down at her, but there was something in his gaze that she hadn’t seen before. He looked...almost nervous. She stared up at him and felt her mouth open again, completely without her mind’s permission, and she scrambled to find something to say. 

Before she could, she felt a gentle hand land on her shoulder from behind. “I’ll just leave you two to talk.”

“Thanks, Donna.” Chris gave a little grin as the ginger woman flounced away, towards a man on the other side of the room. 

He looked back to Rose, and she could almost _feel_ his eyes as they raked her, top to bottom. She bit her lip and wondered just what he was thinking. 

“Blimey. You look beautiful,” he breathed. 

Rose flushed. “Thank you. You...you look nice yourself.”

 _Understatement of this past year and the next, too,_ she chided herself.

“Thank you. Can we talk?”

Her stomach swooped - either in excitement or dread, she didn’t know - but she nodded, biting her lip again.

He raised one hand to the direction he wanted them to walk, and the other gently pressed the small of her back as he led her to a quieter corner of the ballroom. Once there, she rushed to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” they said over each other, then each gave a nervous chuckle.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she explained, cheeks flaming. “I’m the one -”

“Nor do you, Rose. What you did...it was something I’d been wanting for a long time.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I’m not sorry it happened, I’m sorry because I froze. I wasn’t expecting you to - well, I was taken a bit by surprise, is all. It wasn’t anything other than that.”

“No?” she asked.

Chris shook his head. “No. It was nothing like what you’re thinking. I...I had hoped to see more of you after the term ended, like we talked about.”

“Yeah?” Her tongue came to the corner of her mouth, and she was gratified to see his eyes follow it hungrily. 

“Yeah. I’d like to...well, to see you. Blimey,” he told her, running a hand down his face. “I’m usually much better with words. You’ve taken them all away.”

Rose found this funny, since she had given him one-word responses almost exclusively since he got her alone. 

“Would you care to dance?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I told you I don’t…”

“And I told you I’d teach you,” he reminded her, his eyes twinkling. “I promise not to step on your toes.”

Chris held his hand out to her and Rose looked down at it uncertainly. After a moment, she slipped her hand in his, feeling a jolt of electricity shoot up her arm. Her eyes flicked up to his, and the sly look on his face let her know that he’d felt the same thing. She smiled back and let him lead her out onto the dance floor. 

When they arrived at an open spot on the floor, he brought an arm around her waist in a loose hold. He raised their hands, turning them so that their palms faced each other, grasping it. She tensed in his arms as the music began.

“Relax,” he said. “Just follow my lead.”

Chris began to move and Rose looked down at their feet, trying to follow the motions. 

“You’re doing great,” he encouraged her. “Just let your feet follow mine, and you’ll be fine.”

She nodded and a couple of moments later looked up at him, excited, when they had made a full turn of the room. He beamed down at her. 

“I’m dancing!”

“You are,” he agreed. “And quite well, I might add. You’re a natural.”

Rose relaxed a little in his arms, letting her own arm settle on his shoulder instead of lying there, ramrod straight, as it had been. 

She looked back up into his eyes, and she wasn’t quite sure if that was the brightest idea she’d ever had or a colossal mistake. They were dark, darker than she’d ever seen them, and she felt utterly hypnotized. Lost in his gaze. 

Neither said anything for a few minutes, simply exchanging soft smiles and shy glances as the music swirled around them, until Rose felt Chris stiffen and look over her shoulder. Before she could turn, there was a hand on her bare shoulder. 

“Mind if I cut in?”

_Paul_.

Rose opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. Chris took over for her. 

“Sorry, but I’ve claimed Rose’s dances for a while.”

Paul bristled. “Rose can dance with whomever she likes.”

She looked from one man to the other. The two were staring each other down: Paul with flashing eyes and Chris with cool detachment, as if he couldn’t give less of a damn what the boy thought. 

She’d been chatting with Paul, but did that mean she owed him a dance? Rose didn’t have any desire to dance with him. She was already dancing with her preferred partner.

“I’m sorry, Paul, but I’ve agreed to dance with Chris for a bit.”

The younger man snorted, shaking his head, then stalked away with stiff shoulders and clenched hands, the very image of wounded pride.

She turned back to Chris, who was looking a bit smug. “Feel better now?” she asked him with a raised brow.

Chris snorted. “Little upstart in his ROTC uniform. Playing captain in his shiny brass and ribbons.” He turned and gave Rose a condescending look. “He’s not even a _real_ captain, Rose.”

Her other brow raised to meet the first near her hairline, and Chris took note. For the first time in their acquaintance, he looked sheepish. “I’m sorry.” He ducked his head a bit. “I shouldn’t have done that. You really are free to dance with whomever you like.”

Rose smiled up at him. “I know. I’d prefer to dance with you.”

His face lit up and he pulled her back into his arms, a place she went willingly. 

“Fantastic,” he murmured as he spun them around again.

~*~O~*~

Rose was barely out of his sight for the rest of the evening, and Chris had never been so pleased. They chatted with their friends for a bit between dances, and he couldn’t miss the smug looks from Amy and Donna in their direction. It seemed that Donna wasn’t the only ginger who’d been conspiring to get them together.

He was eternally grateful, especially when Rose’s hand sought his out and he grasped it loosely in his own. 

A veritable army of waiters descended on the room with heavily-laden trays, handing out champagne for the midnight toast. Chris took two, handing one to Rose and smiling at her. She took it with a tongue-touched smile, and he felt his stomach flip. 

The room began chanting down from twenty, counting the last seconds of 2015. Chris turned to Rose. 

“You know, it’s traditional to start the New Year with a kiss.”

“Is that so?”

_10, 9, 8…_

Chris nodded solemnly. “And if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll be correcting my earlier mistake.”

Rose’s eyes widened, and he did his best not to fall into the warm, brown abyss. 

_5, 4, 3…_

He didn’t wait for the last two numbers before he ducked his head, pressing his lips to hers. She was stiff beneath him for less than a heartbeat before she melted into the kiss, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing closer, prompting him to wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her as tight to him as propriety would allow. His lips glided over hers, tasting the tang of champagne, the sweetness from the cake they’d just had, and something incredible that he just accepted was _Rose_. Chris parted his lips just a bit, darting his tongue out to her bottom lip for more of the taste, and Rose moaned into his mouth, opening herself to him.

No kiss had ever felt so right - so _perfect_ \- as this one did. No kiss had ever compared. He felt almost dizzy, like her arms around his neck were tethering him to reality.

Around them, the crowd shouted ‘Happy New Year’ followed by the opening strains of Auld Lang Syne, but neither paid a bit of attention. 

Chris hadn’t planned on kissing her like this in front of a crowd, but he’d be damned if he was going to turn down a chance to do so, especially with her responding in the way he’d been dreaming of. 

He explored her mouth tentatively, still mindful of their surroundings and onlookers, until he felt her tongue slide against his in a hesitant caress. With a growl, he tightened his grip on her - propriety be damned - and kissed her in earnest, claiming her as his without saying a word.

He had no idea how long he’d been kissing her - it could have been seconds, minutes, or centuries - when he heard Donna and Amy catcalling from a distance. Rose broke the kiss, spinning her head to their friends, but Chris couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She flushed gorgeously, biting her lip then turning back to face him. He fought the impulse to kiss her again when her amber eyes blinked up at him from beneath her heavy lashes. 

“Happy New Year, Chris.”

“Oh, I should think so.”


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16  
_January 4, 2016_

[Chris] 4/1/16 - 12:42pm: _Hello_  
[Rose] 4/1/16 - 12:45pm: _Hi!_  
[Chris] 4/1/16 - 12:47pm: _are you free later?_  
[Rose] 4/1/16 - 12:48pm: _I’m giving tours until three, then I’m free_  
[Chris] 4/1/16 - 12:49pm: _would you like to go to dinner with me? maybe a late lunch?_  
[Rose] 4/1/16 - 12:51pm: _I’d love to :) chips?_  
[Chris] 4/1/16 - 1:00pm: _chips it is. meet me at my office whenever you’re free. 3:05?_  
[Rose] 4/1/16 - 1:03pm: _haha...what about 4? too late?_  
[Chris] 4/1/16 - 1:05pm: _perfect. see you then_

~*~O~*~

Rose finished her last tour in record time, getting the group back to the starting point ten minutes early. She was a little concerned that she hadn’t done her absolute best on her last tour of the day, but the group had still seen everything they were supposed to and she’d still answered every question. She’d just been...a bit more abrupt than usual.

She checked her mobile and made a couple of quick calculations. If she rushed she’d have just enough time to change. _Good._ She wanted to put on something a little more ...flirty for her date with Chris. 

Her _first_ date with Chris. 

Something in her belly fluttered at the thought.

Once home, Rose didn’t bother to call out to Amy: her flatmate had been spending more and more time with Rory, and Rose didn’t expect to see much of her until term started. She was usually grateful for the quiet of the flat but just at the moment, she wished that her much-more-fashionable friend were there to help her get dressed. 

She stripped off her WCU sweatshirt and plowed through her closet, settling on an off-white sweater and faded jeans tucked into her knee-high, fawn-colored boots. Examining her reflection in the mirror, she deduced that she needed more color to her outfit and dashed into Amy’s room, finding a fringed teal scarf that she looped around her neck. She didn’t bother to worry about Amy’s reaction - the girls had grown quite close and swapped accessories more than once. Besides, it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and given what Rose was about to go do, she didn’t imagine that Amy would be anything other than forgiving and supportive. 

With only a few minutes to get to Chris’ office on time, Rose swirled out the door. 

The air was crisp as she made her way across the campus to Shaw-Holloway, and Rose let herself daydream a bit. This would be the first time she and Chris would be going out as...whatever they were, if they were anything. Yet. 

Nerves started to get the better of her, and she brought her hand up to nibble her thumb while she walked. What would it be like now that there was ...this… between them, and no one else around? What would they be like when they were on their own?

Shaw-Holloway Hall loomed before her, and she paused just outside, taking a deep breath. This would be okay. She liked him, he obviously liked her, and they were going to spend some time together. Getting to know each other. That’s all. Just a date. She’d been on dates before, there was no reason to be getting so nervous over this one. 

Except that this date was with _Chris_ , who made her feel like no one else ever had. 

Rose took another deep breath and went inside. With a curt wave to the undergrad manning the information desk, she headed straight for the stairs to Chris’ first floor office. 

Pausing outside the door, she took a moment to peek in at him. He was hunched over his laptop, occasionally turning to the textbook open beside him and running a finger down the page before going back to his laptop and typing rapidly. She allowed herself a moment just to watch him (and to gather her nerves) before she knocked on the door. 

Chris looked up immediately, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Rose!”

“Hi,” she said, twisting her fingers. 

“Let me get this saved real quick…” he grabbed the mouse attached to his computer and slid it around, clicking a couple of things before closing the lid. “Started saving everything obsessively after the fire in the old building destroyed nearly all of my thesis notes.”

“Oh, no,” Rose sympathized. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nah.” He waved a dismissive hand, getting to his feet and pulling his jacket from the back of his chair. “No worries. I caught up a couple of months ago, and I’m making good progress now. Should be finishing right on time.”

She beamed. “Good.”

“Shall we go?”

Rose nodded, biting her lip. 

He walked over to where she stood by the door and offered his arm. “Time to get the lady some chips.”

~*~O~*~

“I wasn’t sure where to take you,” he explained while they walked. “I know the Bad Wolf has the best chips in the universe, according to everyone, but wasn’t sure if you’d want to go there, given that it’s your time off.”

“No, that would be brilliant,” she smiled up at him. “I haven’t had any since my last shift there last term. I could definitely go for some. Plus, they won’t be very busy right now, at this time on a Monday afternoon...you can meet Ianto.”

“Ianto?”

“He’s the manager,” Rose explained. “I couldn’t ever ask for a better boss.”

“I’d love to meet him, then.”

Rose flushed at the warmth in his eyes and squeezed her hand around his arm just a bit. He dropped his arm, straightening it, and Rose let her hand slide down the leather of his sleeve. When it got low enough, he caught it and laced their fingers together. She looked up at him, biting the inside of her lip, and his eyes danced at her while his thumb idly stroked the back of hers. 

“So…” she started, at a loss and unnerved by the lull in conversation. 

“So…” he responded, eyes twinkling.

“You’re a student, too?”

“Yes. I got my undergrad - well, a long time ago, now - then came back about ten years ago to get my doctorate.”

Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted in confusion. “I thought you were just getting your doctorate now?”

“This is my second doctorate,” he explained, and Rose felt something akin to awe. “My first doctorate was in history and politics, this one is in physics.”

“Quite a change of direction,” she remarked, scrambling to recover from her feeling of inadequacy. 

Chris shrugged. “I wanted to study what was interesting to me. Physics has always been fascinating, particularly astrophysics.”

“You mean like the stars?”

He smiled down at her and squeezed her hand. “That’s exactly what I mean. The sky is full of wonders, Rose. Trillions upon trillions of stars out there, most with planets orbiting them. We’re not the only ones in the universe. We can’t be.”

“Do you think we’ll ever get out there?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it. Humans aren’t just stupid apes. Well, not all of them, anyway,” he said with a wink. Rose giggled. 

They came to the door of the pub, and Rose was a little disappointed when he let go of her hand to open the door for her. She was mollified when he put his hand to the small of her back to guide her in. 

The pub was nearly empty at 4:30, just as she’d expected it to be, and, seeing no one around to do it for her, Rose grabbed a pair of menus on her own as they made their way to one of the booths across from the bar. Chris waited until she sat, then settled himself in across from her with a shy smile. They each opened their menus - despite the fact that Rose already had it memorized - and she snuck surreptitious glances at him from over the top. He caught her, and although she couldn’t see most of his face, she could see the smile crinkle his eyes before he looked back down at the food and drink options. 

“Hello, and welcome to the - oh! Hello, Rose!”

“Ianto!” she said in surprise, looking up at her boss. “I wasn’t expecting you to be covering the floor.”

“Jennifer had an appointment with her advisor at 3:30, so I told her I’d just cover her until she could make it in.” Ianto smiled and inclined his head towards Chris. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh! Yes. Ianto, this is Chris Foreman. Chris, this is Ianto Jones, my boss.”

The men shook hands. “Rose says lovely things about you,” Chris told Ianto.

“Is that so?” Ianto’s eyebrows raised. “Nothing about how I’m a slave driver?” 

Chris chuckled. “If she’s said so, she hasn’t said it to me. Only that you’re a great boss.”

“Just for that, your first round is on the house,” Ianto grinned. “Pick your poison.”

“Cider for me,” Rose grinned. 

“I’ll have a pint of bitter,” Chris said. “And thank you.”

Ianto nodded and went off to the bar, leaving them alone. 

“That was good of him,” Chris remarked. 

“Told you he was a nice guy,” Rose smiled. 

He went back to the menu for a minute, then closed it. “Seems silly to look at the menu when we know we’re getting chips.”

“Yeah, it does.” Rose closed her own menu and lay her hands on it, not knowing what to say. Ianto rescued her by bringing the drinks to the table, then promptly abandoned her again to see to one of the regulars who had just appeared and taken his usual seat at the bar. 

“You seem nervous.”

Rose looked up at him, eyes slightly wide, and tried to come up with something to say. Failing, she just gave a little huff of a laugh and shook her head a tiny bit. “I am.”

“Don’t be. It’s just me.”

“I know, I just...I’m worried we won’t have anything to talk about, really, now that you’re not… you know…”

“Your lecturer?” he grinned.

“Yes. That.”

He looked a bit concerned when he asked her, “Is that a problem?”

“No! No, no….at least, I don’t think so. I mean… We’re allowed to do this now, right?”

“Get chips?”

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Well, I don’t think anyone could _stop_ me from getting chips when I’ve got a craving, truthfully.”

“I’ll bear that in mind for next time,” he replied, with his own quirk of the lips, reaching across to take her hand. Rose just looked down at the place his fingers lay over hers before making a snap decision and curling her fingers around his. He tightened his grasp and didn’t release her hand when they gave their order, not even at Ianto’s raised eyebrows.

~*~O~*~

Chris had seen Rose in various states of anxiety since he’d known her and had expected her to be nervous at the beginning of their date. He’d been surprised by his own nerves - he hadn’t been skittish around women for many years. But something about Rose unsettled him and soothed him at the same time.

It was a thrilling feeling that he found he quite enjoyed.

Their time together quickly evolved into laughter and easy conversation. Being around Rose was relaxing. Comforting. It was the same feeling he’d had in tutoring sessions with her - the feeling that Gallifrey and all the responsibilities that came with it were just a distant memory, and he was free to just be Chris Foreman.

Best of all, though, was that he could see Rose relax as the time went on, as well. They talked about everything and nothing, laughing occasionally, smiling at each other often. He rarely let go of her hand, and it just felt _right_ there. 

Chris never wanted to let go. 

“Thank you for the chips,” Rose told him as they strolled hand-in-hand down the pavement. It was comfortable and easy, and he had only noticed a couple of second glances in the fading twilight, mostly from young women who did a double take. 

He gave a rueful little chuckle. “Seems I should be thanking you. I’m so sorry I forgot my wallet.”

Rose nudged him with her shoulder. “Good thing you’re such a cheap date, yeah?”

He laughed, enjoying the feeling of her pressed against him, her mere presence soothing and bolstering him. He reveled in the moment for a minute, then sobered. “Do you - do you need to get home?”

Rose shook her head, and he felt the tension in his shoulders release. “No, I’ve got all evening.” She looked up at him with that tongue-touched smile, and his heart skittered. 

“I’d like to show you something,” he said without thinking. 

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see,” he told her with a little grin.

They walked along Chris’ usual running route, still chatting and laughing, until they got to the Rose Gardens in Hyde Park. He didn’t call attention to where they were, just kept talking with her, occasionally letting his thumb stroke her soft skin, viciously tamping down the little voice that asked what it would feel like to stroke _other_ parts of her. 

_One step at a time, Foreman._

He came to a stop by the Boy and Dolphin fountain, turning to lean against the marble base and tugging Rose towards him a little with their joined hands. She looked at the other people and couples strolling by, illuminated by the ring of gaslights, and Chris took a minute to gaze at her. Rose’s skin was flawless, her eyes reflected the lights, giving them a twinkle, and the wind rustled her hair, occasionally crossing her face, prompting her to tuck the errant strands behind her ear with her free hand. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, unable - and unwilling - to stop the words. 

Rose turned, her eyes wide with surprise, but that quickly gave way to a small smile. Even in the dim light, he could see the heat suffusing her cheeks, and he longed to kiss her until she was suffused with a completely different kind of heat. 

_Down, boy._

“Is this...is this what you wanted to show me?” She indicated the garden around them. 

“Yes.”

“I’ve been here before,” she told him. “It’s beautiful when the roses are in bloom.”

He nodded. “It is, it’s stunning, but that’s not all.”

Rose tilted her head a bit. “Oh?”

“No, I wanted you to see this.” He stepped away from the fountain, indicating a little plaque on the base. Rose knelt down to read the inscription in the poor light. 

“ _A gift to the people of London from the Royal Family of Gallifrey_.” Rose looked back up at him with wide eyes. “I had no idea this was from Gallifrey. It’s beautiful,” Rose said, getting back to her feet to examine the statue. “Why dolphins?”

“Gallifrey has rocky coasts, and the legends say that dolphins will guide ships to safer waters and away from the rocks that could sink ships. They are symbols of intelligence and wisdom, but still playful.”

Rose turned around, leaning back against the fountain and putting her hand into his again. “Tell me about it. About Gallifrey. Your home.”

“It’s beautiful. We are much further north than London, so the nights are longer in winter and shorter in summer. Some days, in the brightest part of summer, there is no night at all, just a twilight that lasts for a few hours before daybreak. Ah, but that twilight...it’s beautiful. The light makes the rolling grasses appear red, and the leaves on the trees look silver. It’s magical.”

Rose hummed. “That sounds lovely. I’d love to see it sometime.”

“You should,” he enthused. “I’d love to show you. It’s breathtaking.”

_Like you._

She gave him an odd look. “You miss it, don’t you?”

Chris considered his answer. He was treading on dangerous ground: he’d felt compelled to show her a bit of his home, wanting to connect the two of them in his mind somehow, even if it was only a tenuous link. But he wasn’t yet prepared to tell her everything, to give everything about himself away. It wasn’t that he was afraid she’d spill his secret; he was sure that if he asked Rose not to tell anyone who he was, she wouldn’t. He was much more afraid of scaring her away. 

“I do and I don’t,” he said with measured words. “I love my home, and it will always _be_ my home. But I am happy here, in London, too.” 

Rose tilted her head to the side with a smile. “Yeah?”

Chris raised his free hand to the side of her face, pushing a bit of hair that had blown across it and tucking it beside her ear, then cupped her cheek. He leaned down, his gaze darting between her lips and her eyes, watching for any sign of resistance. She gave none, and just as their noses touched, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against hers. 

The kiss was sweet, slow, and thoroughly intoxicating. Chris traced his thumb along her cheek and pulled back, tilting his head a little to improve his angle before capturing her mouth again. She let go of his hand and reached up to touch the sleeves of his jacket. At first Chris thought she might be pushing him away until her hands slid upwards, over and around his shoulders, meeting behind his neck and holding him close to her, pulling herself to her feet. He smiled against her mouth and she returned the smile before kissing him again. 

He slid an arm around her waist, tugging her flush against him, and she made a little whimpering sound against his mouth that left him dizzy. He wanted to hear that sound, over and over again, in various states of undress. 

Chris’ thoughts ran wild when he felt her tongue tracing the seam of his lips and they deepened the kiss. Both were tugging gently on the other, seeking to press their bodies closer together, and he spared a moment to hope that she wouldn’t be able to feel the hardness that was making its presence more and more evident with every passing second. He didn’t want her to think that was all he was after. He wasn’t. Not by a long shot. 

But oh, he ached for her. 

When he began to pull away, Rose followed his lips, clinging to just a moment more, and he grinned with the knowledge that she was just as affected as he was. He softened her loss with a couple of soft, chaste kisses to her swollen lips, then lay his forehead against hers. 

“Yeah. I’m happy here in London,” he whispered.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17  
 _January 9, 2016_

Rose added a little basil to the bubbling sauce on the cooker in front of her, stirring it in gently. She glanced over her shoulder to check the clock and cringed. Chris was due at her flat in less than twenty minutes, and she was doing her best not to let her nerves get the better of her. 

She’d invited him over for dinner in a burst of courage she hadn’t known she had, and while she didn’t _regret_ it, she’d been anxious for the past two days. She’d cleaned the flat, top to bottom, and labored over what to wear before settling on one of the outfits she’d found on the clearance racks with Amy a few days earlier. 

This would be their fourth date in just over a week. Term began on Monday, and Rose’s capstone art project was in a little over a week. She knew that once term started she’d spend all of her spare time preparing for that show, which counted for a large portion of her mark. 

To that end, they had made plans for tonight and tomorrow, capitalizing on their free time before term started. Chris had assured her that he’d still be making time to see her as often as he could, if she wanted.

She definitely wanted. 

All three of the dates they’d been on prior to tonight had been lovely - even if he _had_ forgotten his wallet when they went to the Bad Wolf and Rose had had to pay. He’d made it up to her the next time they went out by taking her to a nice bistro, much more posh than any she had ever been to. She’d been uncomfortable when he’d told her where they were going, going so far as to call Amy and ask for emergency wardrobe advice. Amy coached Rose through their closets and, finding nothing, finally took her shopping. Rose had ended up buying the dress she wore that night, as well as a couple more nice outfits in case he wanted to go other places that would require her to wear something other than a hoodie and jeans. She was wearing one of her new outfits - a skirt and a cute blouse - tonight. 

As uncomfortable as she’d been when Chris had told her where they were going, she loosened up considerably once she met him at his office and he took her hand. He’d noted her worried expression and offered to take her anywhere else she wanted to go, but Rose had demurred, telling him that what he had chosen was fine. And it had been. He’d been the perfect gentleman, opening doors for her and holding out her chair when they arrived at the table. They’d ordered their meals, and Chris had ordered a bottle of wine he insisted would pair nicely with what they’d chosen. He’d made jokes while they ate, and Rose had eventually felt the tension leave her shoulders. 

The wine loosened their tongues and they shared birthdays (her twenty-fifth on 25 April, his thirty-ninth on 12 February) and more. He’d seemed uncomfortable when he revealed his age, but Rose didn’t care about the difference in their ages. Chris was, admittedly, older than any bloke she’d ever dated, but she appreciated that. He was mature and stable - the complete opposite of the blokes she’d dated in the past. 

Rose had told him a bit about her childhood; growing up on the Powell estate with her mum, and they’d laughed about the scrapes she’d gotten into with Shareen. Chris had been a bit more cagey about his own past, but she tried not to read too much into that. She figured he’d tell her eventually. 

Besides, she wasn’t able to think about much of anything when he kissed her. Which he did. Often.

The next date had been to the movies, and he’d let her pick. She’d settled on a drama that she thought they both might enjoy, but it had ended up not mattering. She’d been too nervous about being alone with him in a darkened theater to pay attention to the film, then when he’d put his arm around her, she’d been able to concentrate on nothing but the feel of him pressed against her. It hadn’t been long before he’d been nuzzling her neck and stealing kisses and, well... Rose frankly had no idea how the film had ended. She’d been entirely too wrapped up in the sexy man beside her who was rubbing little circles on her thigh with his thumb and nibbling her earlobe to give a damn what had happened to the hero and heroine on the screen. She’d been terribly disappointed when the credits had started rolling, although she’d been gratified that he’d asked that they let everyone else go out before them, suspecting strongly (and smugly) that he’d needed a couple of moments to compose himself. 

When he brought her back to her flat and walked her up to her door, she’d asked him if he’d like to come for dinner on Thursday or Friday. He’d immediately chosen Friday, and Rose was relieved. It gave her an extra day to get herself and the flat together. 

She looked down at the bubbling sauce again and had the same argument with herself that she’d been having for two days. Chris had never mentioned it, but he seemed to be from...well, from somewhere _other_ than whatever version of the Powell estate Gallifrey had. He seemed almost posh, somehow. He carried himself differently, almost like he should be wearing a uniform, almost...regal.

Rose chuckled at her own silliness as she stirred the sauce. Still, she worried that spaghetti would be too...working class for him. She desperately wanted to impress him, but hadn’t had time to practice any fancier meals - nevermind the fact that she couldn’t exactly afford veal. Rose knew she made wonderful spaghetti, so it would have to do. Hopefully, he would understand that she was just a poor college student.

Her phone dinged, and she smiled when she heard Chris’ text tone. 

[Chris] 9/1/16 - 6:49pm: _On my way...be there soon._

She tapped out a quick message in reply, still smiling, then tossed the noodles into the pot and put the pan of garlic bread into the oven. 

Just as the clock switched from 6:59 to 7:00, Rose heard the knock on the door. Wiping her hands on a towel and giving herself a final once-over in the mirror, she opened it. 

Chris stood on the other side of the door, smiling, wearing his usual jumper and leather jacket and holding a single pink and yellow rose. She flushed when he bent at the waist a little, presenting it to her.

“Thank you,” she told him, flustered, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before she stepped back and let him in, closing the door behind him. 

“Something smells good,” he remarked while she dug a bud vase from under the sink and filled it with water. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” she demurred. “Just spaghetti.”

“That sounds delicious.”

“You sure? We could order takeaway…”

She bit her lip, and Chris took a step towards her, putting his hands on her waist. Rose raised her hands to his arms, plucking the leather of his jacket anxiously. 

“I’m sure that whatever you’ve made will be fantastic, Rose. You made it. It’ll be spectacular.”

Rose nodded, still biting her lip, and he ducked his head to rescue it with a sweet kiss. It was over far too soon for Rose’s taste, but he softened the loss with a tiny kiss to the tip of her nose. “Don’t worry about impressing me, Rose. I’m impressed by _you_ , no matter what we eat.”

“Yeah?”

He gave her another kiss, chaste but sure. “Yeah.”

She smiled up at him brilliantly. “It’s almost ready, then. You can relax in the lounge, if you like.”

“Trying to run me out of the kitchen?”

“Well you _are_ rather distracting…”

He laughed, but let her go. “How about if I stand over here out of your way while you finish up. Seems unfair for you to be taking care of me while I just lounge around on your sofa.”

Rose went back to stir the noodles. “Most blokes would love that.”

Chris didn’t say anything for a moment, and she turned to look at him.

“I’m not most blokes, Rose. And I’d rather be in here with you.”

“Good.” She gave him a tongue-touched smile while she pulled out plates for spaghetti and bowls for salad, dishing up the food and taking it to the table. 

They ate with quiet music playing from the stereo in the lounge, covering the sound of scraping utensils. It was nice, though, and Rose thought it made everything seem more like a date and less like dinner with a friend.

“Thank you for the rose.” She fiddled with her earring, feeling a bit shy.

He smiled at her. “You’re welcome. I hope it wasn’t too cliché.”

Rose shook her head. “Most people think I’d hate roses because of my name, but I actually quite like them.” She ducked her head, chasing a cherry tomato from one side of her bowl to the other with her fork. “This is the first time anyone has given me roses, except when I won the bronze on the gymnastics team when I was a kid. Mum got me some, that time.”

He looked puzzled. “No one has ever given you roses before?” Rose shook her head. “Surely you had boyfriends…”

“Only two,” she said. “And neither of them were...well, neither were romantic at all. Not in the least.”

“Bad experiences, then?”

She shrugged a little and twirled her spaghetti while she considered her answer. “I dated my mate, Mickey, for a while, and he was...nice, but he was prone to making _friends_ on the internet, if you know what I mean. He swore that there was nothing going on, but he was always quick to close the windows on his computer whenever I’d come in, and told me all the time not to check his email. I saw one of the emails he was worried about one time, and it was from a girl. She was being… _flirty_ , and he swore they were just friends when I asked him about it. It’s just… I hate being lied to, you know?” She didn’t look up to see Chris’ nod. “Besides that, he pretty much only liked footie and working on cars and throwing darts with his friends at the pub. I wanted more, and he couldn’t understand that. We’re still friends, though,” she concluded, feeling a little disloyal. 

Chris took a bite of his garlic bread, chewed and swallowed before he asked. “And the other?”

“Jimmy Stone,” Rose said with a stab to her salad. “Prat of the universe.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh, it was lovely to begin with. He took me places, he showered me with affection and we had fun together. But it turned out that he was...not a very nice bloke. The relationship went bad, and I was too young to understand that I didn’t have to put up with that kind of shit,” she told him, not even noticing that she’d gotten agitated enough to swear. “He talked me into dropping out of school before I got my A-levels and moving in with him, saying that we could save money by paying bills together. Made sense at the time. But _I_ ended up paying all the bills, while _he_ lied about everything. He lied about looking for a job, he lied about what he did at the pub while I wasn’t there, and eventually, he left me eight hundred quid in debt while he took off with a girl called Noosh.”

Chris just blinked at her, and Rose wished she could call the words back. She hadn’t meant to reveal that much. “But they’re both ancient history,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I went back to school and got my A-levels after I paid off the debt. And when I finished those, I applied for University.” 

He reached across and took her hand. “I’m so glad you did.”

She ducked her eyes and blushed, glowing under his words. After a minute, she asked, “What about you?” She felt nervous asking for such personal information, but since she’d shared hers, well, it seemed only fair. 

Chris shrugged. “Not much to tell. Seen a few women in my day, being the old man in this relationship.” Rose snickered. “Most of the relationships were short-lived; the longest lasted about nine months, she was a botany graduate student named Jabe. Other than that, there’s hasn’t been anyone I’ve been serious about.” He paused for just a moment, then gave her the smile that she was beginning to find hard to resist. The one that made her want to snog him senseless. “Yet.”

Rose’s heart fluttered and the nerves returned. _Yet._ He’d said _yet_. Did that mean he wanted to be serious with _her_ …?

She really, really hoped it did. 

Rose slipped her hand out from beneath his and started to clear the dishes. “Dessert?”

He got to his feet, picking up his plate and carried it to her sink. “You made dessert?”

“Yes, I did, a chocolate mousse. And you don’t have to do that…” 

She reached to take the plate he was rinsing from him, but he put his free hand on hers. “I want to.” She gave him an uncertain look, and he let go of the plate, putting it in the sink before putting his hands on her waist. “Please, let me help you clean up, then we’ll have dessert.”

Her tongue made an appearance at the corner of her smile. “Alright, then.”

~*~O~*~

Chris was treading on dangerous ground again and he knew it. Every date, every _encounter_ that they’d had up until now had been public or semi-public, in a place where it was easy to stop himself from ravishing her. Now he was in her flat, standing beside her kitchen table with his arms around her waist, kissing her soundly.

Her lips tasted of the chocolate mousse they’d just finished, with lingering traces of the moscato they’d had with dinner. He was doing the best he could to keep a tight rein on his desires - namely the desire to scoop her up into his arms and carry her off to whichever room was her bedroom. The scrape of her fingernails against his scalp wasn’t helping, but he loved it. 

Rose pulled away after a moment and he chased her lips, wanting more. She smiled against his kiss and he couldn’t help it: he smiled right back.

“That was nice,” she murmured, giving him another chaste kiss before she lay her head on his shoulder. “Was it a thank you for dinner?”

He grinned. “No, that was just because I couldn’t resist kissing you another moment. Like now.” He kissed her again, tightening his arms around her waist, pulling her a little closer. “I’ll thank you for dinner later.” 

Rose giggled as he swayed her gently, and he fairly glowed. Having her in his arms felt good...so _damned_ good. 

It felt _right_.

“Would you... would you want to watch telly for a bit? Or something? Or do you...um…?”

“Do I what?” he asked her. 

“Do you need to leave? I don’t want to keep you from something you need to be doing…”

Chris kissed the tip of her nose. “There’s nowhere else I need to be. And even if there were, I’d rather stay with you.”

She beamed up at him. “Really?”

“Really,” he assured her, taking her by the hand and leading her towards the lounge. “C’mon. Let’s go find something to watch.”

_Not that I’ll be able to concentrate on it_ , he lamented to himself.

He took a seat in the corner of the couch while Rose turned on the telly and fetched the remote. She turned around, starting back towards him, and he wondered for a moment where she was going to sit. 

Rose walked over to him and curled up next to him, pulling her legs underneath her before she grabbed his hand and pulled it around her shoulders, nestling into him. Then she looked up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “This alright?”

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This is perfect.”

Chris was unable to offer much of an opinion on what they should watch when she was snuggled into him like this...the smell of her shampoo was intoxicating. Rose finally settled on some comedy he’d never heard of. 

She started the film and lay her head against his shoulder. He, in turn, rested his cheek against her hair and reveled in the warmth of her, pressed up against him. Rose put her hand on his leg, and he cradled it in his free hand, playing with her fingers idly. 

They watched the film for a while, the only sounds other than the movie being a chuckle from one or the other, sometimes from both of them. 

Chris did his best to focus on the movie, but the warm bundle of Rose next to him was distraction beyond measure. His mind kept wandering to the places his hands _wanted_ to wander, wondering just how smooth the legs curled against his lap would be under his fingertips, how it would feel if he ran his hands up her sides. Would she get goosebumps? Would she be ticklish? 

Yes, he decided, Rose would be ticklish.

He itched to find out, but willed himself to behave. He was a gentleman; he knew how to treat a lady. And Rose may not be titled, but she was more of a lady than anyone he’d ever known. And damned if he wouldn’t treat her the way she was meant to be treated. 

Rose laughed at something on the screen, something that he’d completely missed while he was lost in his musings, and she turned her head to look up at him, a smile still on her lips. Her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, then back up. 

_Fuck it._

He lowered his head, pressing his lips against hers softly. She gasped, tensing under his arm before relaxing into him. He captured her bottom lip between his, nibbling a little. Rose whimpered, and he ran his tongue along the lip trapped between his teeth. Opening her mouth, she pulled it free, and he gratefully accepted the invitation that she presented, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek and angling his head to deepen the kiss. 

Her tongue met his tentatively and she adjusted her body a little, turning towards him. Her hands crept up his arms, linking behind his neck, and he let his own drop to her waist, desire pulsing through his body with every rapid heartbeat. 

They kissed for a long moment, the only movement in the room the play of their mouths, giving and taking, and his thumbs idly stroking the fabric of her shirt while the film flickered on the TV behind them. Chris was clinging to control by the tips of his fingers, reminding himself that Rose was different, she was _special_ , and she deserved so very much more than an impetuous shag on her sofa. She deserved soft lighting and quiet music and…

She tightened her hold on his neck and leaned backwards, pulling him over onto her, and he was lost. He braced himself above her body, the heat of their kisses climbing from smoldering to blazing. Her presence - the touch and smell and taste of her - was driving him to madness. He knew - he _knew_ \- that if he didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t be able to. He had to stop. She deserved better.

Then Rose adjusted her legs, and he was stunned when he found himself lying between them. 

Stunned and overjoyed. 

Succumbing to temptation, he reached down to her knee and let his fingertips drift up, under her skirt, glorying in the feel of her smooth thigh under his palm. She squirmed beneath him and he finally released her mouth, running a trail of kisses along her jaw until he got to her earlobe, nibbling it. 

“Chris,” she moaned, and his name falling from her lips incited a roll of his hips against her, where he so desperately wanted to be. 

“Rose,” he whispered on the skin of her neck, and he groaned when she responded, undulating beneath him. 

Her skin tasted amazing under the little flicks of his tongue, but he wanted more. _Needed_ more. Without thinking, he released her thigh and brought his hand up to her collar, pulling the fabric aside to reveal her collarbone and most of her shoulder, greeting the newly-discovered skin with fervid, open-mouth kisses. 

Rose traced little patterns over the skin of his back as she raised the hem of his jumper. She clutched him closer, the sensation of her hot fingers digging into his back contrasting with the cool air wafting over his bare skin. He suppressed a growl: bare skin was a very good idea. He captured her mouth with his again, while his free hand flew to release the buttons of her blouse.

Then he heard the front door open.

“Rose! I’m home! Something smells good!”

~*~O~*~

“ _Shit! Shit!_ ” Rose shoved Chris off her even as he scrambled away, and immediately set about trying to adjust her clothing. Chris, for his part, had tugged his jumper down and propped himself back into the corner of the couch, looking flustered but presentable.

“Rose? Did you...oh!” Amy stopped just after entering the lounge and spotting them. “Hello...am I interrupting?” 

Rose wanted to throw something at her - not for interrupting (well, not _just_ for interrupting), but for the sly grin unfurling across her face.

She smoothed her skirt and did her best to look dignified and unaffected. “You’re fine,” she assured Amy, then turned a little to Chris, an apologetic look on her face.

“Looks like my timing leaves something to be desired,” Amy remarked in a droll tone, still grinning wickedly.

“Tell me about it,” Rose muttered, then caught a sly half-smile from Chris. 

“Hey, don’t blame me. I told you I’d be home Friday night.”

“You said Saturday morning!” Rose protested.

“Did I?” Amy gave her a grin that was not-quite-innocent. “Must have gotten it wrong, then.”

Rose’s mind spun for something to say to break up the awkward silence, but Chris jumped to her rescue.

“How was your winter break, Amy?” 

“It was lovely. Spent most of it here, with Rory.”

“At _his flat_ ,” Rose pointed out.

“Well I had to come home _sometime_.” Amy tossed her hair back. “I was just headed into my room,” she added with a naughty grin. “Don’t mind me. As you were.”

Rose rolled her eyes as Chris told Amy good night and her flatmate flounced off towards her bedroom. She heard Amy singing in a quiet voice as she went: “ _Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad...I’m hot for teacher..._ ”

Reaching around Chris without even looking and yanking a decorative pillow free, Rose squawked and chucked it right at Amy’s retreating back. Amy, for her part, merely giggled and shut the door, causing the pillow to hit it ineffectually. 

As soon as she heard the door shut, she spun around to Chris. “I am so sorry. She... I never would’ve --”

He brought her hand up to his lips. “It’s fine. Really. I shouldn’t have --”

“ _No_!” she insisted, more forcefully than she intended, then cleared her throat a little at his surprised look. “I mean, no. You should have. _Definitely_ should have.”

He smirked, and Rose was grateful to be sitting on the couch, otherwise she likely would have collapsed to the floor from the heat in his eyes.

“Either way,” he told her, “I got carried away. This isn’t exactly something we should rush, and you deserve much better than to be groped on your sofa.”

Rose wasn’t sure what to say to that. She’d rather enjoyed being groped on her sofa, thanks, but the idea that he thought she deserved better was mind-boggling. 

She wondered, not for the first time, what on Earth he saw in her. 

“I should go,” he said in response to her silence, getting to his feet. 

She stood beside him. “You don’t have to.”

“I should. I’m not sure I could be trusted to act the gentleman if I stay.”

That didn’t sound like much of a deterrent to Rose, but she didn’t argue with him, just slid her hand into his and walked with him to the door. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” he told her, turning back when they reached the door. “Dinner was fantastic, and the company was even better.”

“Sorry we got interrupted,” Rose blurted, feeling stupid as soon as the words left her mouth. 

Chris didn’t answer her right away, just smiled and bent down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “It’s alright,” he assured her, then kissed her again, more thoroughly. “The time will come.”

“Yeah,” Rose breathed, praying fervently for that time to come _soon_.

He chuckled, as if he could tell what she was thinking, then cupped her cheek and kissed her once more. “Goodnight, Rose Tyler.”

She leaned her cheek into the touch and bit her lip, smiling up at him. “Goodnight, Chris.”


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18  
_January 17, 2016_

Chris tucked in his vest, pulled a jumper on and ran a hand over his face, considering a shave. Rose hadn’t seemed to mind his scruff last week, so maybe he could skip it. 

Seven days exactly. That’s how long it had been since he’d seen her. And he would have seen a hell of a lot more of her if things had kept going that night at her flat. 

_Roommates are a pain in the arse_ , he thought as he slipped his watch on his wrist and stepped out of his bedroom. Donna sat on his couch with her feet up, drinking one of his beers, and Chris sighed. Neighbors with keys to your flat were possibly just as bad. 

“Going out?” Donna asked before taking another sip. Chris nodded. “Where to?” 

“Rose’s art show.” 

“Ah, that explains the new jumper, and why you’ve been around so much lately.” 

Donna was right. After a series of back-to-back dates before term began, there’d been plenty of texts with flirty emojis (from Rose - he had only recently mastered the smiley face) and quick phone calls, but little else between them. Rose’s attention had been directed at her art show, and rightly so, but she promised that after tonight, her schedule lightened. There seemed to be nothing standing in their way. 

Chris pocketed his keys and looked down at Donna, curled up on his couch. “You comfy?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, could use another beer while you’re up, though.” 

He heard Donna laugh through the door as he ignored her request and shut it behind him. 

Rose’s show started at seven, and Chris had hoped to get there early enough to be supportive, but not too early to hover. After so long apart, his hand itched with wanting to touch her -- any part would do -- and it probably made sense to keep his distance. Wouldn’t do well to pull her into a dark alcove and snog her out of her shoes on her big night, especially since she’d mentioned that her mother was coming. 

No, tonight, Chris had to be on his best, most princely behavior.

~*~O~*~

Rose paced the foyer in the art building, alternating between chewing on the side of her thumb and twisting her hair. They said they’d be here and yet, with five minutes to go and the crowd growing, she couldn’t find her mother or Chris. She thought about popping in and running through her showcase one more time, but she didn’t think she could straighten her pieces anymore.

Four months. That’s what tonight encompassed. Four months of late night sketching, painting. Of going to sleep with turpentine-scented hair on some nights and charcoal-stained fingers on others. The installation module had been brutal; learning about lighting, matting techniques, frame options. The Capstone Project was culminating tonight. Inside the art hall, Rose and her classmates prepared as close to a professional art exhibit as possible, inviting friends, family, and, of course, lecturers. 

The Art lecturers were already inside. Now Rose needed her friends and family. And Chris.

“Rose!” 

Amy hailed her from the doorway, Rory in tow. Her roommate turned heads as she crossed the atrium. Everything about Amy screamed ‘model’, and if she weren’t so fun, supportive, and _nice_ , Rose would have hated her. 

The roommates hugged and Rose gave Rory a kiss on his cheek, thanking him for coming. 

“Anyone else here?” Amy asked, craning her neck to look around. 

“Save your looks for my art,” Rose joked, nervously. “Chris isn’t here. And neither is my mother. God, I would expect my mum to be late, but not Chris. Where are they?” 

The lights flashed, signaling the beginning of the show. 

“I have to go in,” Rose started, and then caught a glimpse of her worst nightmare. “Shit!” 

Jackie Tyler stormed across the foyer, her pink tracksuit flapping. Chris followed two steps behind her mother with a grim look on his face. Rose had seen enough of her mother’s entrance to know this wasn’t good. 

“I’d have been here sooner, sweetheart, but _someone_ stole my parking space.” Jackie shot a glance over her shoulder, and her look would have withered most men. 

“Didn’t steal anything!” Chris said, then looked between Rose and her mum, recognition coloring his features. “Oh, great.” 

“Oh, don’t go givin’ me that. I had my indicator on, and you swept in there…” 

“Look, Mum, I have to go, my show is starting. Um,” she took a deep breath. “Guess there’s no time like the present. Chris, this is my mum, Jackie Tyler. Mum, this is Chris Foreman, my --” Rose hesitated, and since time was precious, blurted out, “boyfriend,” noting that Chris cringed at the sophomoric term. She’d deal with that later. 

Leaving them behind, she rushed into the hall, tugging on the neckline of her dress. She knew she should have worn something less revealing, but at the moment, calming her nerves was more important than second-guessing her wardrobe. 

Crowds of people moved through the mini exhibits, and Rose sped to her designated area. Her installation lecturer along with several others were already passing by her pieces, a few pausing in front of one of her favorites for a closer look. 

A few minutes later, an arm around her waist startled her and she heard Chris murmur something but, to be honest, she was watching her mother wander through the show. A blond blur of pink velour against a sea of artsy black. 

“What?” she asked him. 

He smiled. “I see where you get some of your feistiness,” he teased. “Thought she was going to slap me out in the car lot.” 

Rose nodded, distracted by her mum bending down in front of a watercolor. “Sorry about her.”

“Don’t be. I’m going to check out the works of this fabulous artist I’ve heard about.” His smile reduced some of her tension, just as much as it caused something else to flame deep inside. 

He pressed a quick kiss to her temple and walked off to look at her artwork. In spite of his sweet gesture, Rose thought she might be sick. 

She hung in the background, desperate to catch a glimpse of what Chris and her mum thought of her pieces, yet terrified to know the truth. Two of the most important people in the world were viewing _parts_ of her hanging on the wall. Because that’s what her art was to her. Bits of her soul.

A few lecturers approached and congratulated her on the quality of her show, wanting to discuss one of her pieces, and the night started to pick up. The next time she looked up, the clock ticked towards nine o’clock, and the crowds were beginning to thin. Amy and Rory had finished their loop through the hall and left, giving her huge hugs. Her mum had disappeared. Even Chris had slipped away, and Rose worried she was alone. Before she could pull on that worry, poking it until it was a roaring anxiety, she felt a hand ghost her waist. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked so good.” She spun around and leaped into his arms. “Whoa! You okay, love?” 

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Where have you been?” 

He brushed her cheek. “Thought I’d save my review for last. Considering.” He glanced behind her at the paintings that had garnered so much attention and praise all evening. 

They might have been painted while she listened to the Doctor’s voice, but the subject was all Chris. One, painted in oil, showed his long fingers clasped together almost in prayer. Her lecturers had commented on the play of light and shadows that emphasized her subject’s strong bone structure. The other, a watercolor, was her favorite. She had managed to finally blend his eye color into a spectacular shade of blue. 

“You’re not angry?” Rose asked, scanning his face. 

“Me? That’s the best portrait of me I’ve ever seen. In fact, it should be in the Por--” Rose cocked her head. “What I mean is that you are amazingly talented. Now, since I’ve waited so long, can I get a personal tour of the exhibit from the artist?” 

Rose grinned at him, relief and happiness coursing through her. She tugged him to each piece, giving him a detailed description of when and how she painted or sketched each one. He held her hand, only dropping it to rub the back of her neck or her lower back when they moved to the next piece. 

The lights flickered, indicating the end of the show. Rose’s shoulders slumped and she blew out a huge breath of air. So much of her energy the past two weeks had been on preparing for this. Late nights in the hall working with electricians and framers. She hadn’t had much time for anyone, let alone Chris. Tears prickled her eyes, whether from pride at how well it went, sadness that it was over, or just plain exhaustion, she couldn’t tell. 

“Did you drive here?” Chris asked. Rose shook her head and shivered. He swept her up in his arms in a warming hug. “Can I drive you home?” he breathed into her ear, and Rose heard so much more in those five words. They promised the continuation of a scene begun many nights before. One she wanted more than ever to finish. 

Over his shoulder, she saw her mother approach. Teary-eyed and pale, Jackie Tyler looked stricken. Rose peeled herself from Chris’ arms. 

“Mum! I thought you left. What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“Rose…” Jackie Tyler’s voice trailed off, and Rose realized her mother was speechless. “Sweetheart, I had no idea how good you are at this. Oh, Rose, you’re incredible.” 

Mother and daughter collapsed into each other’s arms. 

When they separated, wiping away tears, Rose laughed. “Does this mean I don’t have to go to beauty school?” 

Jackie joined in. “My daughter, the artist. That’s what I’ll tell everyone.” Rose covered her mouth, trying to hold back her tears, and Jackie brushed her hair behind her ear. “Have you eaten, sweetheart? Can I take you somewhere for some chips? After all this hard work, you must be starving. Unless,” her mother looked over at Chris, and her eyes narrowed. “You already have plans.” 

Without hesitation, Chris stepped forward. “No, Mrs. Tyler. I was just telling Rose how proud I was of her show, and saying good night. I have an early morning class to teach tomorrow.” Rose’s eyes shone at him. 

Jackie babbled as the three of them walked towards the door, and Rose glanced over her mother’s head to see Chris grinning back. 

Their night could wait.

~*~O~*~

Rose simultaneously tugged the hem of her jumper down while pulling up at the camisole. She gave a quick, cursory glance down at her outfit. She’d waited to wear it, one of her purchases from this summer’s internship -- all off-season, so bought at a steep discount. The cashmere lived up to its reputation; Rose had never felt anything so soft against her skin, even if it plunged deeper than usual. The straight pencil skirt skimmed the tops of the sleek leather boots she got on sale, and, according to Amy, hugged her bum in all the right ways. She’d have to take her flatmate’s word for it.

Nervous situations always made her fidgety, and standing in front of Chris’ building about to see his flat for the first time topped the list of anxiety-provoking items. Tonight wasn’t one of their usual dates, she thought, giving her jumper one last tug. As she had sat with her mum celebrating the art show success on Sunday, the text came in, inviting her to dinner. A _Gallifreyan_ dinner, whatever the hell that was. And her hopes soared that maybe this would be the night their relationship moved forward. The follow-up text dragged those hopes through the floor. 

_Tuesday, 6-9 pm._

Who put an end time on a _date_? 

Once inside Chris’ building, a stunning pre-war, whitewashed duplex, Rose found a single door and staircase. The ground floor seemed dedicated to flat Number 1, so she climbed the stairs on shaky legs. Two doors faced each other with his door; Number 3 was ajar.

A gentle tap sent the door creaking open and she stepped into Chris’ flat. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Something warm and spicy was drifting from an open doorway to the left. 

“Hello?” 

An older woman popped her head out of the kitchen doorway at the same time that Chris emerged from what she supposed was his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and gave her a sweet smile. 

But Rose returned her attention to the woman who hustled over to her, hand extended. 

"Harriet Jones, landlady.”

Rose, shook it with a bemused look. “Yes, I know who you are. Chris has told me so much about you, how much you take care of him. Word is that you make the best banana cream pie in all of London.” 

“Universe. I said _Universe_ ,” Chris added, now at her elbow and giving a fond smile to Mrs. Jones. 

Harriet released her hand. “Oh, I like her,” she said to Chris. 

Chris laughed. “That makes two of us, Mrs. Jones.” 

All of Rose’s nervousness left her, replaced by comfortable warmth, like an embrace. Harriet returned to the kitchen, calling out instructions. 

“Wait,” Rose said, turning to Chris. “Did you invite me to dinner that Mrs. Jones made?” 

“She made the dessert.” Just the way he said the words, his lips wrapping around the double ‘ss’, made Rose’s knees weak. She wanted to snog him silly. The door clicked shut before she realized Harriet had left. 

“You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you, so do you. But don’t you ever change?” She poked her tongue out at his jumper/jean ensemble. 

He looked down and plucked the fabric of the jumper in question, pulling it out from his body a little before he protested, “I changed my jumper!” 

Some nerves bubbled out as a giggle, and Chris smiled down at her. He took her hand and led her to the table, already set with china and crystal, the kind Rose had only seen through the windows at Harrods. 

“Where did you get all this?” 

“What?” 

“The china, crystal, and silver. Did you buy it?” 

“No.” 

“Borrow it?”

He chuckled. “No Rose, I did not buy, borrow, or steal the flatware. It’s my family’s. Sit.” He pulled out a chair and Rose sat down, nerves fluttering. Her eyes skimmed over the rose on her plate and landed on the multitude of forks aligned to the side. Far too many forks. 

It was going to be an interesting meal. 

Two hours, a bottle of wine, and five courses later, Rose regretted the form-fitting pencil skirt. All she wanted to do was pop the top button, or better yet, put on a pair of comfy pants. She was so _full_. 

“If all of this is Gallifreyan cuisine, how come no one knows about it?” She dipped her finger in the salty-sweet sauce that had covered the chicken and took one more taste. “I mean there’s Italian food, Indian food, and French food, but no one knows about this?” She waved at the plates and bowls that covered the table. “This was amazing!”

Chris didn’t say anything and she caught him staring at her mouth. She gave him a coy smile. Two -- no three -- glasses of wine made her bold, so she leaned towards him on the table, pleased when his eyes dropped to her neck and beyond.

“Chris?” 

“Hmm…” 

That sound coming from those lips should have been illegal. She grinned a little, and delighted in the way his eyes traced her lips. 

“Why doesn’t the rest of the world know about the wonder of Gallifreyan food?”

“Gallifrey doesn’t do much exporting. I guess we like to keep things to ourselves.” His phone buzzed, and he turned off some type of alarm. “Dessert?” 

Rose laughed. “Are you kidding? After all of this? No, no. Let me help clean up.” 

“Leave it.” He got up and took her hand, leading her to the couch. “I really am sorry that I need to cut this short.” He rubbed his hand through his hair and Rose wanted to let her hand follow his, remembering how soft it felt the other night at her flat. But Chris seemed nervous about something. His hand in hers was firm, and his shoulders were bunched. He didn’t look at her, darting his eyes over to his desk instead.

Rose’s heart started hammering. “What’s wrong?” 

“Hmm?” he asked, and the sound was much less sensuous this time. She was alarmed.

“What’s wrong? You seem nervous.”

“Fuck it…” he murmured.

“What?” Rose asked, now starting to panic.

Chris’ eyebrows shot up and he seemed to come to a decision, his face softening. “No, sorry. Sit down. I have to show you something.” 

Rose lowered herself onto the couch but sat on the edge, better poised to make a run for it if needed. She had no idea what was going on, but Chris was being cagey and it was making her incredibly anxious.

Instead of joining her, Chris sat down at the desk, pressed against the wall between two large windows. Confusing her even more, he popped open his laptop and put on some earphones with an attached microphone. 

Rose immediately thought of Mickey playing his multi-person video games and yelling through the microphone to his ‘ _teammates_ ’ in Dubai, China, and Brazil. 

_Oh, God. He’s some mad gamer_ , Rose thought, dismayed. She should have known he was too good to be true.

He fiddled with his computer while Rose plotted her escape. 

“Good evening, folks. This is the Doctor, and I want to apologize in advance. I know my station manager is going to have a fit, but so be it. No rants or lectures tonight. Enjoy the next two hours of uninterrupted music, all dedicated to _her_ , of course. See you next time.” 

That voice. _The Doctor’s_ voice was coming out of Chris’ mouth and Rose hadn’t noticed getting to her feet. She hadn’t noticed walking to the center of the room. 

“You’re...you’re _the Doctor_?” 

Chris held his finger up as he passed by her and locked his door, even as muffled sounds of love songs whispered around her. When he returned, he took her hands and squeezed them.

“But that means...” 

“Yes. You are _her_ , Rose. Have been, right from the start.” 

“ _My_ Doctor,” she smiled up at him and was rewarded with a blinding smile in return. 

When he took a step forward Rose moved with him instinctively, trusting as he guided her backwards. Her tongue slipped between her teeth when a second step angled them in the direction of his bedroom, and his eyes darkened as they focused on the small pink tip. 

Without a word he wrapped his hand around hers and dragged it up to his chest. Then, when he took another step forward she followed his lead, but he smiled slyly and retreated, pulling her with him. Rose didn’t recognize the song playing softly in the background, but Chris kept time with it perfectly, his eyes screaming exactly how clever he thought he was as with slow and even movements he guided her in a gentle circle. 

As she was contemplating grabbing him by the jumper and attacking his lips with her own, his hand left hers to rest above the swell of her bum where with one firm tug he pulled her body flush against his. Rose barely heard her own moan over the sound of his, low and sinful, as his erection dug into her belly. 

He ducked his head, fusing his lips to hers.

“I think,” she said when he moved his attentions to the side of her neck, “that you’d better take me to bed, _Doctor_. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ) is the song the Doctor plays for Her.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, the rating.

Chapter 19  
_January 19, 2016_

 

 _“I think,” she said breathlessly, “that you’d better take me to bed_ Doctor. _Now._ ”

More beautiful words had never graced his ears.

Chris bit down lightly on a tendon and felt her body tense against his as she gasped in pleasure. He kissed his way back up to her lips to mutter against them. “Your wish is my command.”

Rose made a noise that shot through him like a homing missile aimed directly at his cock. Any further clever words deserted him - he who had conversed with Kings and Queens, who had held court of his own, who could talk for hours on any subject and do it brilliantly - and he was reduced to dropping his forehead to hers, his eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to just _breathe_.

A second later, her hand found its way to the back of his neck as she lifted herself onto her toes to kiss him. His hands tightened around her, lips meeting hers with a ferocity that probably should have alarmed him. But then she made that noise again and reason fled along with his gob. No longer were there thoughts of slow dancing and seduction, his entire being narrowing to _bed. now_. 

Maybe he would have felt differently if Rose had shown any resistance, but the lips pressed against his curled into a smile when he guided her to his bedroom, her steps as sure as they’d been during their dance a few moments earlier. He kicked the door closed behind him, by some miracle still conscious of the fact that the lock on his flat door might as well have been made of paper for all the good it did.

The noise broke them apart and for one charged moment they simply stood, bodies pressed tightly together as they caught their breath, Rose’s whisky eyes shining up at him the whole time.

Chris cupped her cheek and stroked his thumb against the soft skin there, his heart stuttering at the expression of pure bliss that graced her features when she pressed against his palm. Leaning down, he drew her bottom lip between his own and sucked gently before releasing it. Her hot breath ghosted across his face when he slipped his fingers under the tight top she wore beneath her jumper and brushed them along her side.

Holding her gaze with his own, he dropped his other hand to her waist and lifted the hems of her sweater and camisole slightly. Rose caught her bottom lip between her teeth in much the same place he’d just been, her expression turning expectant. So, his heart pounding double time, he slowly raised his hands, his mouth watering as inch by inch she was revealed to him.

Her skin was flawless, the flat plane of her stomach, the pale tops of her breasts where they peeked out above the cups of her lacy pink bra, even her shoulders fascinated him when he bared them. She shook her head from side to side after the jumper’s passage, her hair flying around her face before settling in a way that looked decidedly sex-rumpled.

Chris didn’t see when her hands moved, but he knew that they must have, because her skirt slid off of her hips and down her legs seemingly by itself. As it hit the floor, she stepped out of her boots while casting him a mischievous grin. “Kit off. Unless you’d rather dance some more?”

“Oh, Rose Tyler,” he growled, reaching behind his head for the neck of his own jumper, “we are going to _dance_.”

Her hands were on his chest before the jumper cleared his head, pulling a groan from him that had her humming with delight. For a moment, he watched her use the tips of her fingers to trace the muscles beneath his skin, beaming with pride as she silently and unselfconsciously exhibited knowledge she’d gained in his module. The touch became almost unbearable, a combination of tickling and sensual exploration, the lower she went, until her fingers closed around the button of his jeans. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, anticipation screaming through his veins.

She slipped the button from its hole then grabbed the zip and dragged it down tooth by tooth, the pressure against his cock slowly lessening. When she finally - _finally_ got to the bottom, he grabbed her hands and kissed them.

“Get on the bed.”

He took his eyes off of her for only a second, long enough to free one leg from his jeans, and when he looked back, he saw Rose lying on his bed and… just stalled. She was lying on her back, propped up on her elbows so that she could watch him, a splash of pink and yellow against the dark blue of his duvet. 

The longer he stood there staring, the wider her smile became. “See something you like?”

The words spurred him into motion, and within seconds he’d left his jeans on the floor and crawled up alongside her. She inhaled when his fingers skimmed lightly up her stomach from the top of her knickers to the bottom of her bra.

“Very much so, yes.”

She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him towards her as she attacked his lips with her own. Enormously pleased with this development, Chris wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her even closer, the two of them moaning in unison at the feeling of two thin layers of cotton being all that separated his hardness from her heat. His free hand went to her hip, toying with her knickers for just a moment before he let it slide down, hooking her behind the knee and pulling her leg up over his hip. She groaned a little into the kiss and he smiled, catching her bottom lip between his and thrusting his hips forward a little, rutting against her. He could feel her heel sliding up and down the back of his thigh, but he was reluctant to release his hold on her leg. Her skin, so silky and smooth under his fingertips, was too much of a sensual delight to let go of. Besides, with just a little pull, he could feel her heat grinding against his cock, and oh, that was mesmerising. 

Rose breathed his name, a sound almost like a plea, and he caught it with his own mouth, swallowing it, absorbing the sound of her calling for him down to the very deepest part of his heart and locking it away there, forever. His lips moved restlessly over hers, his tongue sliding and twirling, searching the recesses of her mouth, unwilling and unable to settle. At length, he broke away, relishing the sound of Rose panting for air, fascinated with knowing he’d left her in such a state. He wanted to see her like this, unwound and wanton for him, as much and as often as possible. 

He brought his lips down to her neck, seeking out erogenous zones with his mouth. The spot just behind her ear sent her hips rolling against his when he kissed it, so he worried it with his teeth, tongue and lips, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head from the friction of her center against his straining cock. 

Rose was growing impatient, though. Her hands left their place on his back where she’d been grasping and pulling him closer, and he felt her card her fingers through his hair, grasping him by the head and wrenching his lips away from her neck. He blinked, not sure if he’d been doing something wrong, but before he could ask her about it, she was snogging him again, whimpering into his mouth in time with his thrusts against her, and Chris thought that it had to be the sexiest fucking sound he’d ever heard. 

Sliding his hand between them, he swallowed her gasp when his fingers brushed down the front of her knickers. The cotton between her legs was soaked, and a deliberate drag over the part that covered her clit earned him another one of those amazing noises.

“Fuck, Rose.”

Pushing aside the cotton barrier, he probed gently at her opening, dipping first one finger inside and then two, letting her adjust before adding a third. He pumped her slowly, tracing the contours of her inner walls as her moans and mewls of pleasure washed over him. 

Chris wasn’t nearly done coaxing those beautiful sounds out of her when she whined his name and attacked his mouth again, a diversionary tactic he did not recognize as such until her fingers closed around his erection. She explored the length of him as he grunted and curled his body towards her, almost missing the words she whispered into his ear.

“That’s enough playing around, don’t you think?”

He nodded, but couldn’t pull himself away from her long enough to do anything about it. He wanted to have her in every way imaginable, but, impossibly, he wanted them all at the same time. Stopping even one of the things they were doing was unthinkable.

Taking his nod for agreement, Rose released him and reached for the waistband of her knickers, allowing his mind to clear the tiniest bit. What he discovered was that he’d pillowed his forehead on her breasts, still - criminally - covered by her bra. Nosing one of the cups aside, he wrapped his lips around her lightly puckered nipple, the flavor of her skin bursting across his tongue. His lips curled into a wolfish grin when she cried out and abandoned her pursuit in favor of clutching him tightly. 

“Chris,” she panted, “I want - no, I _need_ you inside me.”

With a small measure of reluctance, he released her, allowing her to attack her remaining clothing with a fervor. When both pieces were discarded over the edge of the bed, he nudged her onto her back and wiped her juices from his fingers onto the skin of her nipple. Her hand closed around his bicep, tiny whimpers of anticipation escaping her as he lowered his mouth. The salty tang of her juices awakened his senses in an entirely new way, and he silently vowed to taste them again at the source soon. 

He quickly discovered that nibbling lightly on her nipple made her the most vocal of anything he’d done so far. Removing his pants without releasing her proved a challenge, but one he was more than willing to accept if it meant he could keep her in such a state, and only when he was finally naked beside her did he lift his head. 

Her mouth moved, but no sound escaped. Her eyes fluttered open when he cupped her cheek, and when they met his she very deliberately spread her legs apart.

Never one to turn down an engraved invitation, Chris settled himself between her thighs. Then he stretched over her, pulling open the nightstand drawer where he’d stashed a box of condoms shortly after that night at her flat. Rose’s hand covered his before he could grab one, and he looked down to meet her earnest gaze. “It’s fine. I’ve been on the Pill since I was 15.”

The decision to back away from the drawer took no soul-searching at all. He trusted her completely. Resting his elbow on the bed beside her head, Chris dipped down to kiss her again. 

Rose’s fingernails were tiny pinpricks of pain/pleasure where they dug into his back and shoulder, and when he swiped his tongue against hers hungrily, her hips began to move in the counter motion she’d need in just a moment.

“Chris, please,” she cried, breaking away from his mouth.

Still he let her continue to undulate, each pass dragging her wet heat along the underside of his aching shaft. She was dripping; he’d be surprised if there wasn’t already a wet spot on the sheets, and they were just getting started.

Her breath caught, her whole body stilling when he rested his weight on his elbow and brought his other hand down to encircle his cock.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his eyes trained down their bodies.

With a little hitch, her hips began to move again, and the noise of pure _want_ she made when the head of his cock touched briefly against her opening nearly undid him. Chris looked up at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and on the next pass, he pushed forward.

His murmured, “ _Fuck_ ,” was lost completely beneath Rose’s, “ _Yes! OH!_ ”

He pushed again, thankful for her body’s wetness because her passage was so tight it was an exquisite torture, yet he slid deeper into her with no resistance. Rose moaned in his ear, a noise he wholeheartedly echoed. 

Once he was seated well enough inside her, he moved his hand, closing it around her hip. And then, using that grip for leverage, he thrust again, a grunt escaping him when he joined them completely.

“Oh!” she gasped, her eyelids fluttering closed as she tilted her head back, the short, rhythmic pulses of her muscles clenching around him welcoming him home.

“Rose,” he whispered reverently, and her face scrunched up at the same time her teeth closed around her bottom lip, the pulses intensifying to the point where he began to wonder if she might be coming already. 

“Move,” she ground out. “God, Chris, _move_.”

Eager to obey, he withdrew and returned, stopping when she hissed and with an unpleasant swooping in his stomach it occurred to him that “move” might have meant something else entirely.

“Am I hurting you?”

Her eyes flew open, searching blindly for a moment before settling on him. “No. God, no. How could you even -- never mind. Don't answer that. Feels amazin’. I promise.”

He studied her expression for any hint that she might be trying to spare his feelings and she stared back, eyes filled with appreciation for his concern and a healthy dose of lust. He started moving again, a steady push and pull, and her legs slid up to surround his hips, her heels resting lightly on the backs of his thighs. He deliberately kept the pace slow. No way was he going to rush to the finish line now that they’d finally begun; the pleasure of being with her was enough for the moment.

She met him eagerly when he leaned down for a kiss, cupping his cheek and groaning into his mouth. Her body arched up, offering herself to him when he left her mouth a moment later to trail a series of nibbles and nips down her neck and chest. And when he curled his tongue around her nipple, the clenching of her muscles around his cock made quite clear the effect it had on her, as if he needed any further reminder than the way her volume ratcheted up and her hands turned into grasping claws.

“Chris - _oh fuck yes_ \- don’t stop that. I’m going to come.”

He hummed into her skin, delighted by her responsiveness. His body was responding in kind, each thrust bringing him closer and closer to the edge. 

Gasps and pants turned into a senseless chant that he somehow was able to decipher the meaning of, and Chris lifted his head just in time to see Rose’s eyes clench shut as her body tightened around him.

“ _YES! Oh, God, YES!_ ”

Oh, how wrong he’d been in the beginning. He would never mistake anything for this miracle again. The pulses of her orgasm were so strong, it was an effort to stop her pleasure from dragging him under, too, but he managed, his hips barely maintaining any semblance of rhythm. 

“Please,” she begged, her voice hoarse, before she’d even come down. “Please, Chris.”

“Rose,” he breathed. And then repeated, groaned into her neck, as he stopped holding back. Each thrust thereafter was carefully placed for his own pleasure and slightly rougher as their sweat-slicked bodies noisily came together. The fading ripples of her orgasm encouraged him, and he timed his thrusts accordingly to hopefully prolong her pleasure even further.

When it happened, it overwhelmed his senses. He was only peripherally aware of pressing his body as deeply into hers as it would go, of clutching her to him and never _ever_ wanting to let her go.


	20. Chapter 20

Rose swam up from the murky recesses of sleep, feeling the dream she’d been cocooned in slip away like a wave receding from the shore. It had been a wonderful dream, though; she’d stayed the night with Chris, and they’d made love before falling asleep in each other’s arms. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d dreamed this -- it had happened more and more often since he started tutoring her -- but the intensity had ratcheted up this time. She could still feel him curled around her, and it was a wonderful sensation that she sighed into. 

Then an arm slid over her waist, fingers lacing through hers, and she felt a pair of warm lips pressing a kiss onto her shoulder. Her _bare_ shoulder. 

“Good morning,” Chris rumbled, and Rose smiled, eyes still closed. It hadn’t been a dream. This time, this one glorious time, it had all been real. Memories came flooding back in an instant; the feel of his hands on every part of her, the way his mouth had breathed her name against her neck, the way he felt when he filled her and his face as he exploded inside her. 

She turned her body and opened her bleary eyes, rolling onto her back to face him. His smile when he looked down at her was soft but brilliant, and she was sure hers matched. 

“Morning,” she replied. 

He stroked her bare abdomen, and bent his head from its perch on his elbow to kiss her chest just over her heart. “Sleep well?” he asked when he raised his head again, his voice full of false casualness. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, arching her back to stretch it and tease him a little with her breasts jutting forward. “Never better. I could get used to this.”

“You will,” he promised, just before he kissed her sweetly. Rose grinned into the kiss and felt him do the same. 

He pulled back after a moment, his eyes dark and hooded, the hand on her belly stroking little circles with his thumb, his head returning to its place on his elbow. She blinked a little, trying to clear her vision, not totally sure she was awake yet. 

Rose looked over to the bedside table and noted the absence of a clock. “What time is it?” 

“It’s early yet,” he told her, smiling as if he were the most clever being in the universe, and Rose groaned a little. “What? Not a morning person, I take it?”

“Not so much.”

Chris started peppering kisses on all the skin he could reach. “Bet I can make you love mornings,” he boasted. “At least _this_ morning.”

She bit back a laugh. “Is that so?”

He made an affirmative little sound against the place where her shoulder and neck met, propping himself on his opposite hand, and Rose tittered a laugh. 

“You think you’re so impressive.”

Chris pulled back and gave her a wolfish grin. “I think we both know that I am.”

“That you are,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a proper kiss. 

She worried for half a second about morning breath, but his tongue invading her mouth didn’t give her long to think about it. For once in her life, she didn’t need to use the loo first thing in the morning, and she was grateful that she didn’t have to break away and leave him. 

Rose trailed the fingertips of one hand up and down the back of his neck, carding through the short hairs there. He moaned a little into the kiss and intensified his assault, licking into her and rolling her underneath him a little. She brought a leg up around his, and he pulled himself more on top of her. She felt him hard and rutting against her, even as he braced himself on one elbow and slid a hand down to capture her breast. 

She smiled into the kiss again, and he took that as a signal to kiss her chin, trailing his mouth along her jawline and towards her ear, capturing the lobe between his teeth. Rose sucked in a sharp breath, tightening her grasp on him, and felt him squeeze her breast harder. 

It was only a moment before his lips made their way down her body to capture the nipple of her neglected breast into his mouth. She bit her lip on a moan and arched her back, pushing her breast more closely to his face. Chris took the invitation gladly, ringing the areola with his tongue before sucking it, hard, and releasing it with a little pop. 

“You like that?” he asked, looking up at her, sounding smug and unsure at the same time. 

She bit her lip and nodded down at him. He smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and bent his head back to repeat the action. 

The longer he fondled and suckled her breasts, the more Rose was afraid she may spontaneously combust. The slow strokes of his fingers left her usually smooth skin riddled with gooseflesh, and his ministrations on her nipple were driving her mad, slowly but surely. She carded her fingers through his hair, running her nails over his scalp, and he let out a little moan that reverberated to her core. 

His hand left her breast and wandered down her body, smoothing over the skin of her side before he gripped her hip firmly. Rose pressed up against his hand, and he clutched her just a little tighter. 

“More,” she whispered. 

“We’ll get there,” he mumbled against her breast. 

Chris kissed his way up her chest to her neck, sucking and licking until she was sure he’d left a mark there. Not that she cared...she loved the idea of him staking a claim. Lord knew she wanted to do the same to him. 

His hand drifted inward from her hip, sliding towards her center. Rose spread her legs a little more and he took advantage of the additional space, tracing his fingers up and down her slit without dipping in, teasing her. 

She grinned a little and dragged her short nails up his back. Her action got exactly the desired result: he moaned and slid his finger inside of her, stroking her from within, spreading her slippery juices. She raked her nails back down his back and he nipped at her throat. 

“Minx,” he accused. 

Rose giggled, but it dissolved into a whimper when he added a second finger and began thrusting it in and out. He trailed little kisses and nibbles higher, up her neck and across her jaw until he claimed her mouth in a triumphant kiss, his tongue questing, mimicking the surge and retreat of his fingers below. 

“Chris,” she whimpered.

“I want you to come,” he answered. He paused just for a moment to capture her bottom lip between his teeth, then went on. “I want to make you come.” 

“I want you inside me.”

“Soon, precious girl. Soon.”

Rose let herself get lost in the sensation of his fingers and mouth, his cock rubbing against her hip. He rutted against her, his breathing becoming more ragged, and she wanted nothing more than to be filled by him, to feel the push and pull of his cock surging in and out, to watch his face contort with pleasure. 

With a burst of bravery, she shoved at his shoulder, pushing him off of her and onto his back. Chris grinned up at her a little when she scrambled over him to straddle his waist, taking great care to center her slippery heat overtop of where he was hard for her, then grinding her hips a little, seeking friction. The tip of his cock stroked against her clit, and she moaned in appreciation. He brought his hands to her hips and clutched her, guiding her motions. 

“Look at you,” he grinned. “Sitting up there like a goddess.”

“I’m no goddess.”

“No,” he agreed, his face suddenly growing somber. He sat up suddenly, nearly knocking her off him, wrapping one arm around her waist to secure her and cupping the back of her head with the other as he captured her lips. Rose kissed him back almost desperately, letting her tongue explore his mouth and caress the roof of his mouth.

“You, Rose Tyler….you’re a queen.”

He didn’t give her time to respond before he tightened the arm around her waist, dragging her over his cock, and she got the hint. She rolled against him some more, reveling in the way he gripped her tighter. 

Without breaking the kiss, she raised herself a little and took him in hand, guiding him to her entrance and sliding down slowly. Chris threw his head back, his jaw clenched tight, his hand fisting in her hair and the fingers on her hip digging into the flesh there. 

“So good…”

Rose hummed an agreement, then set about swiveling her hips to create an infinity symbol, feeling him slide in and out with each motion. Chris panted with each successive movement, until he released her and fell back to the bed. Rose followed him, taking his hands and threading her fingers through his, putting their joined hands on either side of his head and starting to ride him; the bouncing slow at first, but speeding up according to his whispered directions. 

She lowered herself more, gasping at the feel of her nipples stroking against the broad planes of his chest. He started driving into her from below, and she met him thrust for thrust, her mouth opened into a perfect ‘o’. His thrusts became faster, wilder, until he sat up suddenly, nearly dislodging her, and put one arm around her again. Rose leaned back a little, propping herself with one hand while the other held on tight to the back of his neck. She moaned with pleasure, barely heard over the slap of skin against skin and the little grunts Chris made with every impact. He pulled her back up, flush to him, and his rhythm increased. His pelvis was rubbing against her clit, and Rose could feel her control slipping, the precipice of her pleasure just out of reach. She ground herself against him, seeking release. 

He came with a shout, and the feeling of being filled even more was enough to send her hurtling over the edge into her own oblivion. She circled her hips a little, prolonging their bliss, until Chris collapsed backwards onto the bed with a sigh, dragging her down with him, his cock still buried in her. 

Rose lay with her head on his chest, listening to his heart pounding so fast it almost sounded like he had two in there. She trembled from pleasure, her blood fizzing in her veins, then shivered after a moment, although she couldn’t be sure if it was because of an aftershock of her orgasm or the air in the room cooling their sweat-slicked bodies. 

Didn’t seem to matter to Chris - he made a deft little motion with his foot and caught the edge of the duvet, pulling it over both of them, cocooning them in their own little bubble. 

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he muttered, then laughed a little. 

“I wasn’t either,” Rose grinned, looking up at him. 

“Nice surprise, though.” He rubbed circles over her back, and the gentle touch made her shiver again. 

She slid off of him, biting her lip a little at the feeling of him slipping out of her but nestling into his side, leaving one leg draped over him. He drew circular little patterns on her shoulder, and she nuzzled his neck, marveling at her own good fortune. 

“Feel better about being up early?” he asked with a grin in his voice.

Rose giggled, then stretched up to kiss him quickly, a chaste little press of her lips against his. “You can feel free to wake me up like that anytime you want.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “That so?” She nodded. “Remember you said that, Rose Tyler. I’m going to hold you to it.”

~*~O~*~

_January 26, 2016_

Rose’s afternoon class had been canceled for the day, gifting her with a stretch of free time. Knowing Chris’ schedule as well as her own, she headed towards the science building. He was lecturing now, but then had nothing else scheduled until he went on the air at nine. She should really probably go back to her own flat and work on her Art History homework, but the idea of spending a little stolen time with Chris was too compelling. 

Walking through the science building, she turned the corner and nearly plowed into AT David. 

“Hello, Rose!” he said cheerfully when they were clear of each other. 

“Hello,” she smiled. 

“Looking for Chris?”

“I am, actually...I know he’s in a module right now, but I’m not sure which room.”

“All of his classes are in 5A, the same one from last term.”

“Ta, David.” She smiled at him and waved as she walked away towards her old lecture hall. David was a nice enough bloke but he seemed a bit sweet on her, and she didn’t want to encourage him. 

Her heart belonged solely to Chris. 

She tried to slip into the hall quietly, but the door squeaked and Chris looked up. The furrowed brow smoothed into a bright smile that warmed her heart. Without a word, she took the seat nearest the door and looked around the room. It was full of freshers and the corner of her mouth quirked up when she noted the disproportionate number of women. 

She silenced her phone and pulled out her sketch pad while he finished his lecture. 

Ten minutes later he dismissed the class, but Rose didn’t stir. Predictably, several female students dashed towards the front of the room to talk to him. He shot her an apologetic look, but she winked at him, giving him an ‘as you were’ gesture. 

When the last girl seemed to be finished flirting with her bloke, Rose packed her things and descended the stairs towards him. 

Her tongue curled around her teeth when she came to a stop in front of him. “Hiya, handsome.”

Chris glanced around the room, ostensibly checking to make sure everyone was gone, then he grabbed her by the biceps and spun her around, pushing her back against the whiteboard and kissing her soundly. 

Just when Rose thought she was going to have to push him away so she could get some air, he pulled back. 

“Hey yourself,” he smiled. 

She panted a little, still catching her breath. “What was that for?”

“No reason. Just been wanting to do that for months, me.”

Rose giggled, delighted, and he stepped back from her with a grin, shoving his notes into his bag while she helped him out by erasing the whiteboard. She heard him bark a laugh and turned around to ask him what was so funny.

“Turn around,” he ordered her with a grin, still chuckling. She did, and he started brushing his hand down her back vigorously. “Dust from the marker,” he explained. “Maybe I should have pushed you against the desk, instead.”

Rose looked over her shoulder at him in what she hoped was a sexy way. “Lots of things we could do against that desk,” she teased.

“Minx,” he growled. “Now. What are you doing here? Not that I mind…”

“Dr. Moss cancelled class, so I’m free for the rest of the day. Thought I might come around and try to convince my bloke to take me for chips.”

“That, Rose Tyler, would be no hardship,” he told her, then shouldered his own bag. “Lead the way.”

~*~O~*~

After a brisk walk across the quad, they settled into a booth at the Bad Wolf, both looking over the menu. Without raising his head, Chris put his hand out, palm up, and Rose lay her hand in his without any hesitation. He smiled a little, the same way he always did when their skin met. 

“So what are you getting?” she asked. “It’s late enough that we might as well eat dinner.”

“Sounds fine to me.” He studied the menu for a bit. “Think I’m in the mood for a burger.”

“Mmm....think I’ll have one, too.”

They gave the waitress their orders, handing her the menus and smiling at each other.

“So…” he started. “How were lectures today?”

“Fine. Been working on abstract art. It’s not exactly my strong suit.”

“I bet you’re brilliant.”

She scoffed a little. “You’re biased.”

“I am,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t make me wrong.”

Rose tittered and squeezed his hand, just before the waitress brought their beers. They both took a sip, and Rose set her pint glass down. “How was _your_ day?”

“Not bad. Got quite a bit done on my thesis this morning. Tuesdays are going to be productive for that, I think, given that I only have the one class and it’s late in the day.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“It is,” he concurred. “Frees me up to spend more time with you.”

“Even better,” she told him with her tongue between her teeth. 

He hummed, then took another sip of his bitter. Rose leaned forward a bit and pitched her voice low. 

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you... how did you come about your...evening job?”

“Donna,” he answered immediately. Rose snickered. 

“Bullied you into it, did she?”

“Exactly,” he confirmed, and Rose snorted a laugh. “It’s true! She talked me into doing it for one week - two shows - and then when those were done, she did her best to convince me that I’d agreed to do it indefinitely. I wasn’t fooled, but...” He shrugged. “I don’t mind, actually. Not that I’ll ever tell _her_ that.”

Rose gave him a knowing smile. “You seem to enjoy it.”

“I do,” he confessed. “It’s nice to be free to say what I want, and nobody knows who I am since I’m using a fake name.”

“But why do you do it at your flat?”

“I _was_ doing it at the station, but we kept having people show up to try to figure out who I was.”

“Girls, you mean. Girls kept showing up.”

“Well...yeah.”

“The Doctor is terribly popular among the female population of WCU,” she told him. “I’m not surprised they chased you out of the building.”

“Almost literally,” he said, remembering that night. 

“What’s up with the accent, though? How do you do that? On the air, you sound like you’re from the north, not another country.”

“I am from the north,” he gave her a grin. “Remember?”

Rose giggled. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He was still smiling, then sobered a little. “My father was English,” he explained. “From Manchester. I learned to ape his accent, but it’s not my natural way of speaking.”

“It’s lovely,” she cooed. “I love hearing you talk on the radio.”

Chris raised an eyebrow at her. “Better than in person?”

“No, of course not,” she insisted. “It’s just...different.”

“Good different or bad different?” he persisted. 

“Just...different.”

“Well, as long as you like it…”

“I do,” she assured him with a grin. “I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Smutsgiving!


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 20  
 _February 5, 2016_

“So how many will that be?” Donna counted out loud while Harriet handed she and Rose a mug of tea. ”Mrs. Jones, Rose, Chris, me, Lee, Amy, and Rory: seven of us.” 

“That’s great,” Rose said. “If we do it on a Monday when it’s quiet, I can ask Ianto to use the back room.” She paused and bit her lip. “Chris is gonna hate that we’re making a fuss for his birthday, isn’t he?” 

“Oh, totally. Still doing it, though. That man needs a party.” Donna blew on her cup of tea. “Less so now than he did before the two of you got together. You’re good for him, you know. Soften him a bit.” 

Rose took a sip of her own tea, trying to hide a smile behind her mug. There had been nothing soft about him this morning when she woke up. She took a gulp and the hot tea shocked her back to the present company. 

The three women had started meeting in Harriet’s flat for tea, first out of convenience when Chris had been late to meet her one night, then because they enjoyed each other's company so much. 

“...from home? Do you know, Rose?” 

“Do I know what?” 

“How to get in touch with Jack without Chris knowing? It’d be nice if he could make it.”

“That _would_ be nice, but I don’t know how to reach him.” Rose said. “I only met him the once.”

“Oh, I know.” Harriet poured more tea into the mugs and walked back to the kitchen, leaving the two women speechless until she returned.

“Mrs. Jones,” Donna started, when Harriet returned with Jack’s number jotted down on a notepad. “Why do you have Jack Harkness’ number?” 

“He gave it to me. Thought he gave it to everyone.” She looked surprised, and Rose laughed. 

“No, looks like you are the lucky one, Mrs. Jones.” 

It was Harriet’s turn to look a bit sheepish over her cup. 

“So if Jack can make it, we’ll have eight. Perfect. Rose, you reserve the location, Mrs. Jones is in charge of the cake, and we’ll have ourselves a party!”

~*~O~*~

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Chris grumbled as he walked out of the bathroom drying his head with a towel. 

He caught Rose biting her lip as she eyed him up and down. She sat on his bed with her legs crossed, looking at him. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her watch him. Water dripped off his shoulders, running down his bare chest. If they hadn’t been due at the Bad Wolf in less than thirty minutes he’d be doing his best to talk her into another type of birthday activity. 

“It’s fine for you lot,” he waved at an imaginary gathering of people. “You’re still young enough to _want_ to remember your birthday. I’m near the age where I don’t want to be reminded of it, let alone have a celebration.”

“Oh, you’re not so old,” Rose demurred, getting to her feet and walking over to put her hands on his bare chest, tracing the line of a drop of water and sending his heart rate through the roof. “I’d say you’re aged to perfection.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Aged to perfection, eh?” 

Rose bit her lip and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Fairly perfect, yeah,” she told him, her eyes smoldering. “Maybe we can have our own celebration tonight. Just me and you, perfectly aged as you are.” She bent her head and kissed the plane of his chest. Chris swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pick her up and toss her back onto the bed.

She grinned mischievously, as if reading his mind. “But right now, you have to get dressed. There are people waiting for us... well, for you.” 

He sighed and turned back towards his wardrobe, already thinking of the different ways he wanted to celebrate later. Hearing her make herself comfortable on the bed again only stirred his imagination. 

There was a light crowd for a Monday at the Bad Wolf, and they maneuvered between empty high top tables and stools to the back room of the pub. A table along the wall held nibbles and an extra large sheet cake that Chris was hoping had banana as a primary ingredient. Donna, Lee, and Mrs. Jones stepped aside and Jack emerged from behind them. 

“Jack! What are you doing here?” Chris asked, honestly surprised to see him. 

“You know I wouldn’t miss your birthday, H--Chris,” Jack said.

“Have every other year, what’s different about this one?” 

Jack nodded towards Donna and Harriet. “You have very persuasive neighbors.” 

Chris grunted, but shook his oldest friend’s hand warmly. It was good to see him. 

Rose stepped up behind Chris with her hand extended. “Hi, Jack. We met for a minute at the ball on New Year’s Eve. I’m Rose.” 

Jack smiled and took Rose’s hand, brushing a kiss over her knuckles, and eliciting an ‘oh’ from her. “Of course I remember you, Rose. It’s good to see you again.” 

“Knock it off, Harkness.” Chris touched her elbow, gently tugging her hand out of Jack’s grasp. 

“I’m just saying hello, Chris.” 

“Hmmm,” Chris hummed as he guided Rose to the buffet. “Let’s fill ourselves with something more substantial than Jack.” 

Jack gave a salacious laugh and drifted off with Donna to meet Ianto and the others. Chris ignored his friend and Rose’s grin, nodding towards the food. “You do all this?” 

“It was equal parts me, Donna, and Mrs. Jones. Do you like it?” Rose asked, with a hesitant expression on his face. 

He looked around the room, filled with people who meant something to him -- Chris Foreman. Not the Prince, just Chris. He had forgotten what it was like, until Rose gave it back to him. 

“It’s perfect.”

~*~O~*~

The party was winding down. Donna and Lee had already left, driving Mrs. Jones home. Amy and Rory were in an intense conversation in the corner that Rose hoped was more lovers’ chat than spat. Chris excused himself, swooping down to give Rose a quick kiss. She smiled as he pulled away, and received one in return before he went to the bar. 

“I’m really relieved that he’s found you, Rose,” Jack said from across the table. “He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

Rose beamed. “Amy says the same thing about me,” she told him. “Apparently, we’re good for each other.”

“I’d say so,” Jack remarked, taking a drink from his longneck. “Quite a change from when he’s home, let me tell you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He nodded. “He’s much moodier in Gallifrey. Quite the grump. It’s not the easiest life, though, to be fair.” Jack took another long swig. “Seems like it’d be a cakewalk, you know? The perfect life. Having beautiful women throw themselves at you because you’re rich and powerful. But palace life isn’t quite like that.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Palace life?”

Jack blanched, but Rose barely noticed while her mind reeled. Chris was from the palace? Well, that would explain why he was brought up to be a gentleman and his impeccable manners, as well as why he always seemed so...posh.

But wait...did that mean…?

“Jack,” she said in a low voice. “Are you...are you _royalty_?”

His mouth dropped into a perfectly round ‘o’, then snapped closed as he looked over Rose’s shoulder. 

“It’s not...I’m…the Prince...”

Chris came back to the bar, eyeing both of them warily. Rose swatted him on the arm. “You didn’t tell me Jack is the Prince of Gallifrey!”

His mouth dropped into an ‘o’ to match Jack’s from a moment earlier, but Chris closed it quickly and gave Jack a fulminating glare. “The Prince doesn’t like to be known as such when he’s away from the palace,” he ground out. “He usually prefers his privacy.”

Jack spoke up, his voice shaky. “Just like to be a regular guy, you know?”

She turned to Chris. “But what...what does that make you?”

“Captain of the Guard,” Jack volunteered. “And my plus-one,” he winked.

Rose turned back to Chris and eyed him speculatively. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were affiliated with the Royal Family?”

“I….I didn’t want you to think any differently of me.”

She laughed and stretched up to kiss him, putting her hand on his cheek. “As if I could. You’re still my Chris.”

He looked…strange. Tense. It occurred to Rose that she was in the presence of royalty, and she should act accordingly. For all she knew, she was being unspeakably rude. She turned back to Jack and gave him a curious look. “Should I, you know...should I call you something different? Highness? Sire?”

“No!” Chris and Jack said in unison, nearly at a shout. 

Jack recovered first. “No, no. None of that is necessary. I’m still...I haven’t changed. Still the guy you know. Jack, just Jack.” He mumbled an excuse and hurried over to Ianto at the bar.

She gave him a bemused smile. “A prince. I never dreamed I’d meet anyone royal, this is amazing. Me! And you!” she spun around, swatting Chris’ arm. “You could have told me you grew up in the palace. I’ve been wondering.”

“About what?” 

“The way you talk sometimes, very formal-like. Or, how you know what fork to use, or stand up from the table when I go to the loo. These days, most blokes don’t even notice when a girl leaves unless she walks in front of the telly.” Rose laughed. 

Chris leaned down and nuzzled his nose against her temple. “I think we’ve already settled that I’m not just any old bloke.” 

“No,” she purred. “You aren’t. So, tell me about the palace. Is it like _our_ palace? You know, Buckingham?” She popped a cold chip in her mouth. 

“No. Not as large and ostentatious. Fewer rooms, cozier. Maybe more like Kensington.” 

Rose laughed until she had to wipe her eyes. She felt Chris pull away, and saw him frowning and occasionally glaring across the room at Jack visibly flirting with Ianto. Based on the Prince’s behavior, Gallifrey must be _very_ progressive. 

“Better?” he grunted at her when she sighed to get the last of the giggles out. 

“Sorry, but wow...that was funny. Kensington, cozy.”

She stared over at Jack, seeing him in a new light. He had Prince Charming’s looks, but other than that nothing would have made her think Jack was royalty. In fact, some of his stories made him appear decidedly un-royal. Was his crazy life another way of coping with being a Prince?

“It’s sad,” she said, still watching Jack whisper something in Ianto’s’ ear. 

“What is, love?” 

Rose nodded at Jack. “Feeling like you have to hide who you really are and lie to everyone, even your friends. I feel bad for him.” She turned to Chris. “Aren’t you glad that isn’t you?”

Chris kept staring across the room in silence. A muscle twitched in his jaw, sending his mole dancing. He was so quiet that Rose wondered if he’d heard her at all. She laid a hand on his arm.

“You alright?” 

He looked down at her and nodded, shooting her a thin-lipped smile. “I’m always alright.” 

His eyes were a stormy blue when he slid out of the booth and led her over to their friends.

~*~O~*~

“And I was having such a nice time,” Chris muttered. 

His anger filled so much of the cab, he was surprised the driver didn’t charge extra fare. Jack sat across from him as they pulled away from dropping Rose, Amy, Rory off. Chris had made up some lame excuse that he knew Rose didn’t buy for not staying with her. She looked hurt, and that made him even angrier. 

God, he wanted nothing more than to stay with her tonight. It had been so long since he’d been surrounded by people he cared for on his birthday that to fall asleep -- or more -- with one would have been borderline magical. 

Jack put a stop to that. 

“In my defense, British ale is stronger than Gallifreyan.” 

“So what, you’re using your low alcohol tolerance as an excuse for why you told my...my...my _Rose_ that you’re the Prince?” 

If he had been a violent man, he would have leaned forward and smacked the smirk off Jack’s face at his stammering. He didn’t know how to define Rose, but right now he didn’t need Jack to find humor in it. 

That wasn’t the point. 

London neighborhoods passed by, flashes of stone and brick. Chris knew he couldn’t blame just Jack, although he would for the next few hours and days. Jack hadn’t made the the asinine comment about Kensington Palace. For just a moment, Chris had gotten lost in sharing a simple memory of home with Rose, never realizing how crazy it would sound to her. 

And then, she drove a nail through his heart. 

Sad. Rose thought it sad that Jack had to create another life. And was happy that Chris didn’t have to. It was pathetic and dishonest and everything Chris was guilty of. 

The cab pulled up to the curb, and the men got out, Jack stopping to pay. They climbed the stairs and entered the flat in silence. 

“Chris, in all seriousness, I am so sorry. I should have been more careful.” 

Chris rounded on him, the night’s frustration spilling out at his feet. 

“Yes, you should have,” he barked. Running a hand over his hair, he paced the room, looking for a solution in each corner. “I care for Rose. A lot. I’m --”

“You’re in love with her,” Jack interrupted. Chris was brought up short for a moment, just staring at his friend, wide-eyed.

“I’m not -”

“Don’t deny it, Chris. Not to me.”

“I don’t know --”

“I _do_ know. I saw it when you danced with her at the New Year’s ball. The way you act around her. And the looks you give her…”

“What looks?”

Jack took a seat in the armchair and crossed his legs, eyeing Chris over his folded hands. “Like the sun rises and sets in her eyes.”

Chris ran his hands up and down his face in frustration, then flopped onto the couch opposite Jack. “You’re seeing things.”

“I’m seeing truth,” Jack retorted. “You’re in love with the girl. You can piss and moan about it all you like, but that’s the fact. Now the question is: what are you going to do about it?”

“What would you have me do?” Chris snapped. “She has no idea who I am. What would she say if she found out?”

“Any woman would be thrilled beyond measure that the Prince Regent of Gallifrey was in love with them.”

“Rose isn’t just any woman,” he grumbled.

“No, she’s _your_ woman. And you’re in love with her.”

“I can’t have her, Jack,” he said miserably. “Not really. And now I’ve lied to her.”

“You haven’t lied. It was a misunderstanding, and one that’s easy enough to correct. Tell her the truth, tell her that you’re the Prince and you want to marry her.”

“Marry her!” Chris snorted. “I can’t marry her!”

Jack quirked a brow. “Why? You’ve found fault with every other candidate put to you.”

Chris just stared at his Captain of the Guard. All of those things were true. He couldn’t deny them -- _wouldn’t_ deny them. But could he really marry Rose?

“I can’t marry Rose. I have to marry --”

“Exactly.” Jack leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him. “You have to marry. Period. You’ve put off this marriage thing, resisted every woman presented to you because she wouldn’t make you happy and you knew it. Now here’s Rose, someone you’re obviously content with, someone who would make a good princess, and you should marry her.”

“It wouldn’t work because --” he stopped, not knowing what to say. Thoughts swirled around his brain and he tried to connect more than one, to string something coherent together. 

“Have you even _read_ the Marriage Act?” Jack insisted. Chris shrugged; it had been a while. “Well, besides abolishing the god-awful idea of marrying first cousins, it also gives you permission to marry whomever you choose. And as for her not being royal or Gallifreyan -- well, look at your parents.”

Chris leaned back against the back of the couch in shock. Jack was right. The Marriage Act had been specifically written to allow him his choice, but he’d never considered that he would be able to choose beyond the familiar group of royally acceptable candidates. His mother had bucked tradition and married her choice of husbands, and his parents had had a blissfully happy marriage. But she had been a Queen, beloved by all. Could he do the same?

He scrubbed his face again. “Even if that were true, Jack, I can’t force her into marrying me to save me from Reinette. Why would she even want to marry me? And now... now she thinks…” He slumped against the back of the couch again and blew out a heavy breath, his face pointed towards the ceiling. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Tell her the truth,” Jack said, without hesitation, ignoring Chris’ shaking head. “Be honest with her. That girl loves you. She can handle it. Play tonight off as a joke between the two of us. The longer you wait, though, the bigger the misunderstanding and the greater the consequences.” 

Chris looked down at the floor. He knew Jack was right. But Jack hadn’t seen what he’d seen in Rose’s eyes tonight. The sadness and relief. He’d lose her forever if she knew, and the thought of that made his world tilt. 

“Guest bedroom is down the hall…” he muttered. 

“No, Chris, I have a room at the Ritz.” 

Chris shrugged and headed to bed, letting his Captain of the Guard fend for himself.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 21  
_March 3, 2016_

Rose sat in the office of the Bad Wolf counting her tips for the evening, bouncing her foot a little to the music that still came in from the bar. The shifts she had this term were much more lucrative and involved fewer closings. She wasn’t having to pick up any extras unless she wanted to, which was a boon since she preferred spending her spare time with Chris...even if that meant she was working on Thursdays and couldn’t hear the dedications he made to her on those nights. She knew he still made them, and somehow that made the songs he chose more special, in her mind. He _knew_ she wouldn’t hear them but he played them anyway, and it felt almost as if he was playing them to announce to the entire world how he felt about her. It was romantic and sweet. 

Rose smiled a little at the thought. Tomorrow she’d find out what he played since the Doctor and the mysterious _Her_ were still topics of loud speculation all over campus. 

Ianto broke into her thoughts, leaning against the doorjamb of the office. “Good night?”

She nodded, doing a quick final count of the money before her. “That twelve-top left me twenty-five percent. My mobile bill is paid now,” she grinned.

“Fabulous!” he told her, pulling out his mobile. “I’ll call you an uber.”

Rose shook her head. “Nah, don’t do that. There’s no need,” she told him. “It’s not that late, only just after eleven, and I’m just a few blocks away. I’ll be on the mobile the whole way. I promise.”

He gave her a shrewd look. “This is London, Rose. It could be dangerous, walking home by yourself.”

“I’ll be _fine_ , worrywart,” she assured him with a smile, reaching over behind the bar to grab her purse. “It’s a lovely night. Just want some fresh air, yeah?”

Ianto pursed his lips, but Rose gave him a winning smile. “Oh, alright,” he acquiesced. “Text me when you get home and let me know that you got there. And call your bloke before you walk out the door, so that I know someone’s talking to you.”

Rose gave a snappy salute. “Yes, sir!”

Ianto rolled his eyes, and Rose giggled. “I’ve got to get back to the bar, but I’m serious, Rose. You be careful.”

She got to her feet and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best, Ianto.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

Rose reached into her pocket and dug out her mobile, unlocking it and going straight to Chris’ contact. She pressed the green button to call him, and after two rings, she heard her favorite voice in the world.

“Hullo, Rose Tyler.”

“Hullo yourself,” she grinned into the mobile, then raised a hand and pointed to the mobile at her ear to show Ianto she’d done as she was told before stepping out onto the pavement. “How was your night?”

“Quiet,” he told her. “How was yours?”

“Busy. But that’s a good thing.” She stopped at the edge of the pavement at the end of the block and looked both ways before stepping out into the zebra crossing. “Busy means more money.”

“Well I can see the merit in that.”

“So…” she started, her voice a little teasing. “Quiet night, huh.”

“Pretty quiet, yeah.”

“Play any songs for anyone special?”

He snorted and she grinned. “You’re not subtle at all.”

Rose grinned. “Maybe not, but I can tell you what I _am_.”

“Is that so?” he said in a smug tone. “And what, exactly, are you?”

“I’m -”

Her head snapped up when she heard a squealing sound a little in the distance. She turned just in time to see small brown hatchback barrelling down the street, right towards her. 

Chris called her name repeatedly, the urgency in his voice growing with every second she didn’t answer. She tried to move, to continue crossing, to jump out of the way - _something_ \- but nothing happened. Her brain had stopped communicating to her feet and in that moment, she thought it was over. The headlights of the car grew larger and larger as the car got ever closer.

At the last moment, she dove away and landed hard, feeling a blinding pain in her leg. Then she hit her head and knew no more.

~*~O~*~

Someone was stroking Rose’s hair as she woke. She blinked her eyes fast against the harsh lights.

“Oh, thank God you’re awake,” he sighed.

“Chris?”

“Hello, love.”

“What…?” She looked around the room; the red box on the wall marked ‘biohazard’, the IV pole just beside the bed, the yellow plaid curtain drawn across the front of the room. Puzzled, she glanced down at herself, grimacing when she moved. “What happened?”

Chris took her hand and kissed her fingers. “Just relax, love. Lay back and rest. You were in an accident. A car almost hit you while you were crossing the street. Just barely missed you.”

“Feels like it didn’t,” she grumbled, adjusting herself and wincing again. “How did I get here? Where am I?”

“You’re at the A&E,” he told her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and reaching back up to stroke her hair. “I heard it happen over the mobile, but Ianto heard it from inside the pub. He came out and found you and called for an ambulance. Oh, Rose. I…” His words tapered off and he kissed her hand again.

“I’m alright. At least, I think I am. Am I really hurt?” She felt fuzzy-headed, her thoughts not entirely clear.

“A little, but not terribly. You hit your head when you fell, but you don’t have a concussion. All the swelling is on the surface, which is a good thing. Means that you don’t have a hematoma, but you do have a nice goose egg.” Rose groaned and brought her hand up to her head to touch the lump gingerly.

“Right attractive, that.”

“You’re gorgeous, no matter what,” he told her with another kiss to her fingers. “You landed on your knee pretty hard and bruised your patella. That’ll be sore for a few days.”

“My back hurts,” she whined.

“Yes, you probably twisted your back as well. But the doctor says you’ll be right as rain in a couple of days.”

Rose let out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side. He met it with his hand, cupping her face, supporting her. 

“I’m sorry you had to come out for me.”

“Hey, now, you stop that. It was no trouble at all. I’ll always come if you need me, Rose.”

She smiled up at him, a tired, weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. He breathed another sigh of relief. 

“When can I go home?”

“Well, the doctor said that as soon as you were awake and kept a little bit in your stomach, we could go.”

Rose nodded. “I’ll call Amy to come get me.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m taking you back with me. You can stay at my flat this weekend. The doctor said you’re going to need to stay off that knee for a day or so.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“So you’re going to take care of me?” she asked with cocked eyebrow.

“Problem?”

“You have things to _do_ , Chris. A thesis to write, classes to teach - oh, blimey. How am I going to get to my classes?”

“I’ve already asked my AT to cover my classes, and I’ll be out of the office for the day. The doctor offered to give you a note to pass on to your lecturers telling them what happened. You can give it to them on Monday.”

She gave him a shrewd look. “You’re serious.”

“Very.” He brought her hand up to his lips, between his two hands, and kissed her forehead lightly, careful to avoid her lump. “I regret the circumstances - I’d take your place so you wouldn’t hurt at all if I could - but I’m going to have you all to myself all weekend, and I can’t be sorry about that.”

Rose smiled and settled back down on the rubbery pillow. “Well, when you put it that way…”

~*~O~*~

Chris emerged from the kitchen carrying a bag of ice in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Rose smiled at him from her perch on the couch as he made his way over to her, sitting the mug down and arranging the ice over her knee.

“You’ve got to keep that elevated, Rose. Just ten more hours until the twenty-four hours is up.”

“I know,” she sighed, then gave him a tongue-touched smile as he settled in behind her. 

“Doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor who?”

“ _This_ doctor.”

Rose snickered. “So you mean _my_ Doctor.”

He ducked his head and kissed her cheek. “Quite right.” Then he settled back into the corner of the couch while Rose nestled into his side. “You really scared me, Rose.”

“I know. Scared me, too. ‘Specially because that’s how my dad died. He was struck by a car. Hit and run.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Rose shrugged, “There was never a reason to tell you. It’s not something I really like talking about.”

“We don’t have to.”

She nodded, then spoke softly. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“What happened last night.”

“Wasn’t your fault, love, don’t ever think that. But still - I was terrified until the doctor said you’d be alright.”

She looked up at him, then slipped her hand behind his neck to pull him down for a kiss. “I’m not leaving you anytime soon,” she assured him.

Chris stared into her eyes for a moment, seeming to debate with himself. After a moment, he told her in a deep, serious voice: “I hope you never leave me.”

Rose’s eyes widened a bit. She knew she was in love with him - she had been since before the ball if she were being honest with herself - but she’d never dreamed that he may feel the same. It seemed too much to hope that this wonderful man, nearly perfect in every way, could love her, too. She longed to tell him, but didn’t have the nerve. 

He cleared his throat, breaking into her reverie, looking a bit uncomfortable with how much he’d just said, and grabbed the remote.

“So! What do we want to watch now?”

Rose shrugged, deciding to play along with his nonchalance, even though her heart was pounding. She lay her head over on his shoulder. “You choose. I’m bored with movies for now.”

He seemed to consider her for a moment. “Want to watch a show?”

“What show?”

“My favorite show. I think you’d like it.”

She turned her head to look at him, interested. “What is it?”

“It’s called The West Wing,” he told her. “It’s about a group of staffers and lawmakers who work together in the White House for the President.”

“Like The Thick Of It?”

He thought for a moment. “A bit. There’s a lot less swearing and a lot more plot.”

“Sounds boring,” Rose curled her nose.

“I don’t think so,” he shrugged. “It’s really an interesting show, even if you don’t understand all of the politics involved. I think you’ll really like some of the characters.”

“How did you get into it?” 

Chris chuckled. “It was all but required viewing when I got my doctorate in history and politics. I had never heard of it, but all my classmates raved about it and my professors referenced it often. I didn’t expect much, but it ended up becoming my favorite program. It’s not dry at all, even if it’s not exactly action-packed.”

“Is it funny?”

He nodded. “Very funny, at times.”

“Alright then,” Rose agreed. “If you like it, we’ll watch it.”

“You sure? We don’t have to. You’re the one who’s injured and in need of pampering.”

Rose scoffed. “I’m not in need of pampering, although thanks for what you’re doing. You’re being so sweet. 

“Oi! I am not ‘sweet’!”

She giggled. “You are, but don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone and ruin your reputation.” He looked a little mollified, and the twinkle in his eye gave lie to his mock outrage. She raised up a bit and kissed him. “Let’s watch your daft little show.”

“It’s not daft. You’ll see. I have a little bet with myself about who you’re going to fall in love with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Couple of pretty-boys for you to look at,” he muttered.

She turned her body a little, ignoring the protest from her twisted back. “Now, why would I be ogling pretty-boys when I’m snuggled up to you?”

Chris gave her a sharp look, although his twinkling eyes earned a smile from Rose. “We’ll see…” He reached for the remote and pressed the necessary buttons to call up the show.

~*~O~*~

Chris stared at the telly without seeing it. Rose had stayed awake through the first few episodes, but her need for rest had finally caught up with her. She was sleeping peacefully with her head in his lap, and he stroked her hair absently, calmed by her mere presence.

He was tired, too, but every time he closed his eyes it all came rushing back. Squealing tires, a sudden silence over the line, followed by Rose’s soft ‘oh’ as she realized what was happening. Her terrified screams still rang in his ears. If he lived to be a hundred, he didn’t think he’d be able to forget them. 

His body had known what had happened before his brain, and he’d dashed around the flat throwing on shoes and picking up keys, all while he shouted her name into his mobile. It had been both a relief and a horror when Ianto came on the line and said that Rose was hurt and he was calling an ambulance. 

He’d met a shaky Ianto at the A&E, but the other man hadn’t stayed long and he’d been left to sit by Rose’s bed to wait the two hours until she woke up, praying she would be alright. He didn’t think he could stand it if she were anything else. 

There was no use tiptoeing around it anymore; he was in love with her. He’d known that she was something special from the moment he met her, but he’d been afraid to name what he was feeling - even in his own mind - believing that he’d be unable to keep her. Even after Jack had reminded him of the Marriage Act, he’d been afraid to believe that marrying his Rose, his beautiful, precious Rose, was a possibility. 

It irked him that Jack had been able to name Chris’ feelings before he could. But it was true, and deep down he knew it. The only bright-spot of last night’s near-miss was that it clinched it for him. He was head-over-heels in love with Rose Tyler, simple as that. He wanted to marry her. Wanted the fairy-tale love story that his parents had had, and he wanted it with Rose.

The clock was ticking for him; he had less than a year to marry. Would Rose _want_ to marry him? Would she be ready in less than a year, if she did? Would she be willing to leave the life she’d known and come with him to Gallifrey, to be his princess? Did Rose even want a family?

The biggest question of all, though, and the one that weighed on him the most was: what would Rose do when she found out that he’d lied? What if she left him?

Sooner or later, he lost everyone he cared about, and he didn’t think he’d be able to stand it if Rose walked out of his life like everyone else.

But Rose wasn’t everyone else. She was different in every way, and he felt differently about her, too. None of his previous relationships compared to this. None of them came anywhere close. He was in love for the first time in his life, and this lie could destroy them.

She needed, no, _deserved_ to know that he was the Prince Regent of Gallifrey. And he needed to tell her soon. 

Chris raised his head as the key turned in the lock of his door, but didn’t move. 

“Afternoon, Mrs. Jones,” he said quietly, so as not to wake Rose.

She bustled into the flat and stopped when she saw him, a bag of groceries propped on one hip. “Oh! Chris! I expected you to be at work at this hour.”

“I normally would be,” he said, pitching his voice lower when Rose stirred. “But Rose had a...mishap last night, and she’s here with me.”

“What sort of mishap?”

“A car nearly hit her on her way home from work.” Harriet gasped, and Chris went on. “She’s alright,” he assured her. “She bruised her knee pretty badly and hit her head, but she’s not seriously hurt.”

Harriet relaxed a little. “Well that’s good. She seems to be in good hands,” the other woman commented, giving Chris a shrewd look. He ignored it.

“What have you got there?” he asked, raising his head a little to try to see into Harriet’s grocery bag. 

“Was going to make you a banana cream pie, but it seems that Rose’s need is greater than yours.”

“ _Everyone_ needs your banana cream pie, Mrs. Jones,” he joked. 

She grinned at him. “Well, I suppose if you’re being a hero, you deserve a treat as well. But I think I’ll be baking more to Rose’s tastes for the evening, if it’s all the same to you.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Chris smiled, stroking his hand up and down Rose’s arm absently.

“Chocolate silk pie instead of banana?” 

“Sounds fantastic. Do you need any help?”

“No, you just stay there and take care of our patient.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Harriet nodded and went off towards the kitchen, and Chris went back to staring at the television. Rose stirred and let out a little sigh. “Did someone say ‘chocolate’?” she murmured.

Chris grinned. “There you are, Sleeping Beauty. Might have known that would wake you up.”

Rose sat up gingerly, favoring her back. Chris put his hands out to help her, settling her back against his side. “Mrs. Jones is here, she’s going to make you a chocolate silk pie.”

“Mmm…” she hummed. “That sounds wonderful.”

He smiled and kissed her hair. “I’ve had it before. It is wonderful.”

“Oh, Chris, I’m sorry. I fell asleep during your show.”

“No worries. You need your sleep: rest is restorative.”

She chuckled. “Yes, Doctor.”

He grinned in response. “That’s right, you should always listen to your Doctor.”

“So, what did I miss?” she asked, settling in. “Is Mandy gone yet? God I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aENX1Sf3fgQ) is the song the Doctor plays for Her.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23  
 _March 4, 2016_

Twenty-four hours, ten episodes, and three-quarters of a silk pie later, Rose was feeling much better. Chris had finally stopped harping about ice and keeping her knee up - although she did anyway, since it was more comfortable. For now, her feet were propped in Chris’ lap while they watched another episode of the West Wing. 

“These two are driving me spare,” Rose complained. 

“Who?”

“Josh and Donna. They are so _obviously_ in love.”

“What makes you say that? I’m not disagreeing, just curious.”

Rose gestured towards the screen. “Look at the way he looks at her. And she’s even more moon-eyed than he is. They’re meant for each other. I mean, really. What bloke offers to take a woman shopping and buy her shoes unless he’s in love with her?”

Chris chuckled. “You have a point.” He paused for a minute, looking thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever binge-watched anything,” he remarked. 

“Really?”

He shook his head. “Never more than two or three episodes at a time.”

“I have, a couple of times. Usually when I’m sick or can’t find any inspiration to paint.” She thought for a second. “Are you bored?”

He shot her an incredulous look, then snorted a little. “Bored? With you? Not likely. I’m watching my favorite show with my favorite person in the world. How could I be anything other than content?”

“I was just worried I was keeping you from something.”

“Nah,” Chris shook his head, stroking her bare foot. “I’m perfectly happy right now.” He looked at her shrewdly. “Why? Are you bored?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m happy here with you. I’ll be sorry when the weekend ends and our little bubble bursts.”

“Well, I would prefer if you’d avoid getting into accidents, but we can spend the weekend together anytime you like.”

Rose smiled at him. “Careful. I may take you up on that.”

“I hope you do.”

Her mobile rang on the coffee table, and she sat up to reach it, pulling her feet from Chris’ lap with a little wince for her stiff knee. She saw her mother’s name, then swiped the screen to answer it. 

“Hello, Mum!”

“ _How are you feeling_?” her mother asked without preamble.

“I’m fine, just a bit sore.”

“ _Still at your bloke’s flat_?”

Rose smiled at Chris, who was pressing the button to pause the show. “Yeah, I’m here with Chris. He’s taking good care of me,” she said fondly.

“ _Well, that’s good. Are you sure you don’t need anything_?”

“M’fine, Mum. Really.”

Jackie chattered for a few minutes, her fussing over Rose interspersed with idle gossip from the Estates, and Rose nuzzled back down into Chris’ side, under his arm. He kissed her hair and she smiled up at him, accepting a soft little kiss to her lips while her mother prattled on and he played with her hand that had come to rest on his leg. She adjusted to accommodate him when he started nipping at her neck, trailing little kisses against her skin towards her collarbone. She smiled, wrinkling her nose at the way his scruff tickled and trying not to let her mum know what Chris was up to. 

After a few minutes Jackie wound down, and Rose found a break in the conversation to tell her mum she needed to ring off, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. Jackie rang off with a promise to call the next day, and Rose gratefully put the mobile down.

“You’re terrible,” she told Chris with a grin. “Distracting me like that while I was talking to my mum. What if I did that to you while you were on the air or something?”

“Ah, Rose, don’t you know? You already drive me to distraction all the time, whether you’re around or not.”

“Is that so?” she asked in a coy voice, bringing her hand up to his face. “And just how do I distract you?”

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her, eyes dark, his head diving back down to her neck. “It’s all I can do to keep my hands off of you at any given moment.”

Rose smiled into his shoulder. “What about this moment?”

His hand ran down her side, over her shirt, until it got to the hem and slipped under, trailing back up slowly until he reached the side of her breast, which he stroked with his thumb. Rose sucked in a breath, feeling herself simultaneously both tense up and melt into him.

“Seems I can’t keep my hands off of you right now,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across her nipple.

She bit her lip and arched her back a little, stopping before it hurt, giving him better access. “Well, we’re in your flat, all alone. Looks like you don’t have to worry about keeping your hands to yourself right now, do you?”

He sighed heavily and lay his head down on her shoulder. “But I should. You’re still hurt.”

“It’s not so bad,” she reassured him, her hands skating over his shoulder, feeling the cashmere under her fingers. “I think I might be up for a little...exploration.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he told her, his hands on her waist, his thumb rubbing a little circle on her belly. 

She could tell that he was battling with himself, and resolved to nudge him until she could feel his hands all over her again. “You won’t,” she promised.

“We could aggravate your injuries,” he protested, but his hand had taken its former position on her breast and he was nipping at her collarbone. 

“You won't,” she said again, leaning her head to one side to allow him better access. “You could never hurt me.”

Chris raised his head then and kissed her. Rose opened for him as soon as she felt his lips part over hers and gave a little moan when his tongue slid against hers deliciously. 

She leaned backwards after a minute of brilliant snogging, pulling him on top of her. He followed obediently, still kissing her. His hands roamed her sides, and she pulled his jumper up so that she could feel his skin against hers. He suckled at her bottom lip, nibbling it, and Rose made another little contented noise. 

“This would probably be more comfortable on the bed,” he murmured against the skin of her cheek, between kisses.

“I’m rather comfortable now.” She undulated beneath him. “But let’s go there.”

He shot to his feet, bending to pick her up in a bridal carry. She slid her arms around his neck and he sought out her mouth again, kissing her as he navigated to his bedroom. 

Once there, he laid her on the bed with great care before standing back up, stripping off his jumper, baring his chest to her. Rose eyed him appreciatively, raking her eyes over the lean muscle of his toned chest. She crossed her own arms, prepared to tug her own jumper off, but he knelt over her, putting his hands on hers to stop her. 

“Let me,” he murmured. Rose nodded, moving her hands out of the way, letting him pull her top up and away. She felt the chilly air against her heated skin and her hair settled back down around her shoulders. She watched him while his eyes devoured her, almost able to feel his gaze like a physical caress. 

“Alright?” she teased, wrapping her tongue around her teeth. 

He brought his eyes up to hers then, and Rose was startled by the depth of blue she saw there. Without looking away, he put his hand to her shoulder and pressed her back into the pillows. She went, pulling him down with her by putting a hand behind his neck. He settled down on top of her, situating himself between her legs and bringing his mouth down to hover over hers. Their breath mingled and she stared into his eyes, wanting him, willing him to take her. 

“You are so bloody gorgeous,” he whispered, reverent. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Rose grinned. “I think it’s time for the luckiest man alive to get lucky.”

She closed the millimeters of distance between their mouths and kissed him, unable to articulate any other thoughts at the moment and not really wanting to. He kissed her back with near desperation, and Rose reveled in the way he devoured her, arching her back a little to allow passage for the hand that slid around to unclasp her bra, ignoring the twinge of pain and focusing instead on the way he felt, his weight holding her down, his erection pressed against her right where she wanted him, his tongue caressing hers. 

Chris tugged the bra away, sitting up a little to slide it off her arms, and she bit her lip as she looked up at him towering above her. His hands went to her breasts, kneading gently, and he bent to take one nipple into his mouth. Rose carded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her, her breaths growing choppy. 

“Chris…” she moaned. 

“Yes, Rose?” he breathed against her skin, even as he made his way across her sternum with tiny little kisses. 

“Want you.”

“You’ll have me, precious girl,” he answered, rutting against her. “I’m all yours.”

Rose ground her hips against him, the hardness pressing against her, rubbing her clit even through layers of clothes, feeling amazing. 

“Too many clothes,” she complained, caressing the bare skin of his back, feeling the muscles ripple. 

He released her breast with a pop and lifted his weight from her, cupping her mons. “You want to get rid of the clothes?”

She sat up, forcing him upright, and unfastened his belt, tossing it to the side with a clatter, her hands then flying to his button and zip. “The sooner the better.”

He dove for her mouth, kissing her expertly, shoving at his trousers and pants. When he got them down, he hooked his fingers into the top of her leggings, catching her knickers, and tugging them down. Rose raised her hips, biting her lip against the pang in her back, hoping he wouldn’t notice. 

He did. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “But I don’t think I’m up for any athletics tonight.”

Chris pulled her leggings and knickers the rest of the way off, then covered her again with his body. “I’ll be gentle. Stop me if it hurts. Promise me.”

Rose nodded up at him, and he caught her mouth again, taking himself in hand and sliding the tip of his cock up and down her slit. She moaned when he rubbed it in a little circle over her clit. 

“I want to taste you,” he told her. “May I?” 

Rose whimpered a little in response, and he gave her a wolfish grin. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Yes, _please_.”

He kissed her again, breaking away to trail kisses down her jaw, then her neck, and Rose felt the flicks of his tongue against her skin as he made his way. His fingers entered her - one at first, then two - and he began to thrust them gently, moaning a little against the skin of her abdomen.

“You’re so wet, Rose. For me. All for me.”

“For you,” she agreed. “Only for you, always for you.”

He let out a triumphant little sound at that, then positioned himself so that his face was hovering just above her curls. She could feel his breath on her along with the slide of his fingers, and keened. 

“Please, Chris,” she groaned.

He needed no further encouragement. She felt his tongue running up and down her slit, from the place that his fingers were sliding in and out to her clit, circling it. She reached down and grasped him by the ears, spreading her legs wider for him, wanton and needing.

Chris didn’t miss the invitation she was presenting and set about licking her, caressing her with his tongue and his fingers, eliciting panting moans from Rose. She felt rather than saw his smile against her, just before he intensified, devouring her. 

Rose thrust helplessly against his assault, pleading incoherently for more, needing him. She felt herself climbing, coming closer and closer to the precipice of her orgasm, her entire focus on the way he was making her feel with his quick tongue and thrusting fingers.

Then he curled his fingers, pressing against the spot that sent her over the edge every time, and Rose screamed. She shattered, falling into a million little pieces even as she bucked under him, against the hand he had pressing down onto her hip to hold her still. 

She was barely coherent when he pulled his fingers out of her, licking them clean, then crawling up her body with an almost predatory grin.

“Liked that, did you?” he crowed a bit, nuzzling her neck.

Rose was boneless, and could barely bring her arms up around his shoulders. She simply hummed contentedly, a smile playing across her lips. Then she felt him nudging against her entrance, and she once again raised her hips to meet him. 

Chris took himself in hand, lining himself up and sliding inside her slowly. Rose gasped - the sensation of him filling her was so good, almost too much for her highly sensitized flesh. She clung to him as he buried himself then slid out, only to bury himself again. 

“Fuck, Rose...you feel so fucking good…”

He very rarely swore, and the moaned curses only turned her on more. “Please, more…”

He caught her lips again, plundering her mouth even as he plundered her where they were joined. Rose rocked beneath him, bringing her hips up to meet his thrusts as much as her sore back would allow, and tried to bring her legs up to wrap around his waist, but a burst of pain in her knee put a stop to that. 

Chris noticed her gasp of pain and stopped, mid-stroke. “Am I hurting you?”

Rose bucked her hips harder, ignoring the twinge in her back. “Don’t you stop, don’t you dare stop.”

“Rose…” he moaned. 

“Make love to me,” she whispered into his ear before nipping at his earlobe, knowing it made him crazy. 

She was smiling triumphantly when he he started fucking her again, his thrusts faster and more insistent now. He adjusted himself a little, changing the angle, and his pelvis rubbed against her clit every time he filled her, and oh, that was _brilliant_. 

“So good,” she panted. “You feel so good.”

Chris responded by hooking his arms under her shoulders for leverage and speeding up, pleading in a language Rose didn’t recognize and assumed was Gallifreyan, but couldn’t be arsed to care about when he was slamming into her as he was. All ability to speak was lost and she was reduced to little grunts every time he hilted himself in her wet heat. She clutched at his shoulders, holding him as close as she could. She was close, so fucking close, and -

Rose exploded, throwing her head back and shouting incoherently, feeling herself tighten around him, his pounding into her feeling more intense than she could stand. 

He cried out against her neck when he exploded inside of her, the grip on her shoulders almost painful, his hips thrusting his cock into her one, two, three more times before he collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily.

~*~O~*~

Chris lay beside Rose, holding her as close as he could, relishing feel of her bare breasts pressed against his chest. He tucked her head under his chin and stroked her hair, murmuring in English and Gallifreyan: sweet nothings and precious everythings. 

Rose smiled against his collarbone and situated her good leg between his while his breathing and heart rate gradually slowed down. 

“That was…” she began.

“Fantastic?” he ventured.

She hummed in agreement, placing a sweet kiss in the center of his chest. “Fantastic is one word for it.”

He chuckled, ducking to kiss the top of her head. 

She wiggled a bit, putting one arm around him and stroking his back. “I could just stay like this forever.”

“Well, we’d have to go eat at some point,” he joked.

“Then we could just come right back and cuddle up like this. Sod the rest of the world.”

He laughed then, squeezing her a little. “You’re amazing, Rose. Absolutely fantastic.”

“I don’t know about all that, but I am one thing.”

“What’s that?” he asked, pulling back a little to look at her. 

She looked up into his eyes, and he saw in her caramel eyes all of the love he felt for her reflected back at him. 

“I’m yours.”

He couldn’t help it, really, when he bowed his head to hers, pouring all of the love that threatened to overwhelm him into the kiss. She returned the kiss with equal passion, and he was sure his heart would explode with love and joy. 

The separated after a moment - or maybe an eternity - and he pressed his forehead to hers, marvelling in this woman and just how much he loved her. 

“Do you have any idea what you mean to me, Rose? What you do to me?”

Her answer was a smile, but she didn’t open her eyes. He didn’t need her to. He kissed her forehead softly and then nuzzled her head back under his chin, sighing contentedly. 

“What was that you were saying?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Hmm?”

“You were talking...sounded like another language. Was that Gallifreyan?”

“It was,” he confirmed, his heart rate speeding up. 

“It was beautiful. Sounded almost like music.”

“It’s a beautiful language.”

“What were you saying?”

Chris thought for a moment. He could lie to her, and although the thought held some appeal given what he’d been saying to her, the thought of lying made him feel cold. But if he told her the truth…

There wasn’t really any choice.

“I was telling you that I love you.”

Rose went stiff in his arms, then pushed away from him just a little, very slowly. “You...you love me.”

“Yes,” he answered simply, his heart pounding against his rib cage almost violently. 

He was completely unprepared for the tears that welled up in her eyes.

“What...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“Shut up,” she sniffled. “You daft thing. I love you, too.”

“You do?”

Her tongue curled around her teeth as she smiled. “Yeah.”

Chris let out a laugh, the sound joyful and loud, and Rose giggled. Beaming, he looked down at her and caught her smile against his own mouth. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, precious girl.”

“I love you, too.”

He was just leaning in to kiss her again when he heard a sound from the lounge - a key sliding into the lock.

“Shit!” he muttered, releasing Rose quickly and leaping from the bed to find his trousers. “Shit!”

Rose dove for the covers, pulling them up over herself with a helpless giggle, and Donna’s voice carried through the flat. “Chris? You home?”

“Yeah, just a minute!” he called back, jerking his trousers over his hips and buttoning them. 

“Shame, that,” Rose teased from the bed. 

“Hush, minx,” he grinned at her, then bent to press a quick kiss to her lips before he dashed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Donna had just flopped onto his couch when he stepped out, scowling at her. “You have bloody rotten timing. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, that’s a fine greeting - Jesus, Chris! You’re half naked! Go get dressed!”

“Oi! It’s my flat!” he retorted, trying not to flush over the fact that he’d forgotten his jumper.

“They’re my eyes!” she cried. “Seriously! Go put on a jumper!”

He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to affect annoyance but feeling more self-conscious than anything. “If you don’t want to see it, you could always go.”

Donna snorted. “Not likely. Mrs. Jones is coming over to make dinner for you and Ro-” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Spaceman, did I interrupt?”

He scowled at her, and she burst into laughter. “I did! I did, didn’t I? Oh this is rich.”

“Bloody menace, you are.”

Donna didn’t pay the least attention to him, just laughed harder. 

“If you’re quite finished,” he snarked. 

“I am. But are you?” She doubled over at her joke.

“Get out.”

“Can’t. Told you, Mrs. Jones is coming to make dinner. So you’d best go get dressed before she gets here and has a coronary event when she sees you half naked.”

Chris glared at her, but turned his back on her giggles and went back into his bedroom. Rose was standing by the bed, her arms twisted behind her, fastening her bra. “Donna sounds happy,” she said in a dry tone.

“Bloody menace,” he repeated, then crossed the room and put his hands on her waist, bending to kiss her sweetly. “Not exactly the most romantic moment. I’m sorry.”

She put a hand on his cheek. “It was perfect, Chris. All of it, perfect.”

He bent to kiss her again, tearing himself away after a moment with a low growl. “C’mon,” he said. “We need to make ourselves presentable. Got company coming.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an explosion in this chapter, in case that sort of thing triggers you.

Chapter 24  
_March 17, 2016_

Chris looked around the room when he entered the Bad Wolf, trying to spot Rose. It was Thursday night so he knew she was working, but he didn't see her anywhere on the floor. Donna came to stand beside him and a young woman with brown hair and a smile came up, carrying a tray under her arm. 

“Hi! Welcome to the Bad Wolf. You guys need a seat?”

“Yes. In Rose Tyler’s section, please,” Chris asked politely. 

“No problem,” the girl said, picking up two menus. “Booth or table?”

“Booth,” Donna answered.

“Follow me.”

They followed the girl through the dinner crowd to a booth at the back of the bar, then had a seat and took the menus handed to them.

“I’ll let Rose know you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

The brunette flounced off, pushing through a swinging door to the kitchen, and Chris looked down at the menu in his hands. 

“Don’t know why you’re looking over that thing. You get the same thing every time.”

“And I’ll still get chips,” he said without looking up. “But I might want something a little different this time. Never know what might take my fancy.”

“Nobody else better be taking your fancy, mister,” came a voice from behind him, and Chris looked up to see Rose stopping beside the table, her tongue in her teeth.

“Not a chance,” he assured her with a smile. “My fancy is firmly taken, in that regard.”

Rose bent down to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Hiya.”

“Hey there.”

“And what am I, chopped liver?”

Rose laughed and turned to Donna. “Of course not. You’re much more like chipped beef.”

Chris chuckled at Rose’s cheek. Donna pretended to be affronted, but the twinkle in her eyes gave her away. “Well, I never.” 

“I like chipped beef, though,” Rose teased. “So you’re still one of my favorites.”

Donna harrumphed, and Chris laughed out loud. 

“I’m just kidding, Donna,” Rose said, looking a little worried.

The redhead just waved her hand. “I know, dear. And someday, I’ll take the mick out of you, too.”

Rose giggled, relieved, and turned her attention back to Chris. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have...work in a couple of hours?”

“I do, but Donna was hungry.”

“Oh, don’t lie,” Donna snapped good-naturedly. “He wanted to see you. Pining away, he was.”

“I was not!”

Rose pretended to look hurt. “You weren’t?”

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “I can see that I’m never going to get a moment’s peace with the two of you.”

“Nope!” Rose chirped.

“Never gonna happen,” Donna confirmed.

He buried his face in his hands, feigning dismay, and Rose and Donna both giggled. 

“So you want something else to eat tonight?” 

“Thought I might try something different, yeah.”

“Do you want your beers while you look over the menu? Ale and cider?”

“Please,” Donna said, and Rose smiled at both of them. 

“I’ll be back in just a minute, then.”

Chris watched her go, just as he always did, and Donna smirked at him. “You’ve got it so bad.”

“Not denying it, me,” he replied carelessly.

“Does she know?”

“Does she know I love her? Of course she does.”

“No, you dolt, I meant…” she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Does she know who you are.”

Chris stiffened. “I’m Chris Foreman.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “No. I haven’t told her about...that...yet. It’s gotten a bit more complicated since she thinks Jack is the Prince.”

“She _what_!?”

He shushed her viciously, his eyes flashing. “I swear to God, Donna, if you expose me in this pub…”

“Oh, what are you going to do about it? Have me executed?”

“No, but I’ll -”

“Here you are!” Rose sat down their beers with a sunny smile. “You ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?”

“A few minutes, please,” Chris told her. “We got caught up in conversation.”

Donna’s eyes flashed at him, but he didn’t flinch.

“Okay! I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Rose stepped away, heading back towards the kitchen.

“Chris,” Donna said in a low voice. “You _have_ to tell her.”

“I know,” he answered miserably. “I’m just...I love being just Chris, you know? And what will she think of me when she finds out who I really am? And about the fact that I've been keeping a secret from her for months?”

“She’s going to be less upset that you are… _who you are_... and more upset about you not telling her about it.”

“You think?”

“Rose loves you, idiot.”

“I know she does.”

“And she deserves to know.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he challenged her. “I beat myself up about it all the time.”

“Well now _I’m_ going to beat you up about it. She’s not going to be pleased that you led her her to believe you were just a regular bloke, and she shouldn’t be.”

“What if she’s _more_ than displeased? What if doesn’t want me anymore, Donna? What if she decides the lie was too big and she decides to leave me? ”

“She won’t,” Donna assured him. “But she’s not going to be pleased, and the longer you let this go on, the angrier and more upset she’s going to be.”

Chris watched Rose walk out of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with plates of food to another nearby table. She gave him a little wink on the way by. 

“I’ve tried to tell her,” he confessed, still watching her as she handed out plates. “I wanted to tell her the weekend she got hurt, but I couldn’t work up the nerve. I’m afraid that everything will change between us.”

“That was weeks ago, Chris! I can’t believe you’ve let it go on this long, honestly. And Rose isn’t one of those vapid socialites you’re used to. She’s a good woman. She sees you for you. I don’t think your title is going to change things all that much.”

Rose came back to the table then, asking if they’d made a selection. 

“I’ll have the turkey bagel,” Donna supplied. “With chips, of course.”

“Steak sandwich for me,” Chris told her. 

“With chips?” Rose asked, writing.

“Of course!”

“I’ll go put this in and be back in a bit.” She smiled at both of them, then gave Chris another wink. He answered with a smile of his own, feeling sick at heart and hoping she couldn’t tell. Rose left to go put their orders in.

“Tell her. Tell her tonight.”

“I won’t see her tonight, and I’m not telling her something like this at work,” he replied. Donna raised an eyebrow at him.

“So, tell her tomorrow night. Be prepared for her to be upset. But you can’t keep this from her any longer.”

“I know, I know.” He scrubbed his hands down his face again.

“And if I find out you haven’t told her by Sunday, I’ll be giving you a slap upside the head.”

“Assaulting a member of the royal family is punishable by five years in prison, you know.”

Donna smirked at him. “I’ll take my chances.”

_~*~O~*~_

Rose stood in the kitchen of the pub, waiting for an order of chips. It had been a relatively good night; despite the rugby team coming in and leaving a crummy tip, she’d done well on her other tables. Another night like this and rent would be paid, so everything else she made for the next two weeks would be extra cash - which she sorely needed.

Her coworker, Brittany, leaned in the swinging kitchen door and called out to her. “Hey, Rose? Your bloke is here.”

Rose looked puzzled. “Again?” She looked up at the clock and saw that it was 11:30. The bar didn’t close for another hour and a half. After the accident, both Chris and Ianto had insisted that she not walk home, telling her that if she had to leave late at night she be on a bus, in an uber, or one of their cars. She’d argued with both of them a bit, but finally acquiesced. Ianto was rarely done by the time she was ready to go, she hated bothering Chris when he had early classes and a thesis to write, and she couldn’t justify uber’s surge pricing. So she’d been taking bus 30W almost exclusively, enduring the cracked plastic seats and smell of stale alcohol to keep everyone happy.

Tonight it seemed she had her own private chauffeur. Chris sat at the bar, nursing a soda, and she snuck up and kissed his cheek before he even noticed her. 

“Hiya, handsome.”

Chris snorted a bit at that, the way he always did when she called him ‘handsome’, but smiled at her. “Hi there, gorgeous. Ready to go?”

“Not quite. I need to finish counting out my bank and rolling the silverware. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be here.” He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. “Go, finish up what needs doing. I’ll take you home when you get done.”

Her tongue made an appearance in her smile. “My home or yours?”

Chris smirked. “I’d rather it be mine.”

It was her turn to lean over and kiss him. “Whatever you want, handsome.”

He scoffed at her again, and she left him with a little smile and a wink. 

She sped through the rest of her duties and clocked out, finding Chris chatting with Ianto. 

“I’m just saying that parliament - oh, hello.” 

She smiled at him. “Hey there. You ready to go?”

“Yep.” He got to his feet and reached across the bar to shake Ianto’s hand. “Pleasure talking to you.”

“And to you, Chris.”

He released Ianto’s hand and put his arm around Rose’s waist. “C’mon, love. Let’s go home.”

~*~O~*~

Chris had learned early on in their relationship that Rose was _not_ a morning person, and that she was barely functional until she had a good, strong cup of coffee in her system. It was just another little facet of her personality that he found endearing, and since he was a light sleeper and was usually up before her, he’d gotten into the habit of getting up, brewing a pot and fixing her cup. Resting it on the nightstand, he’d crawl back into bed to wake her up gently while it cooled.

This morning, he woke forty-five minutes before the alarm and padded into the kitchen to make their coffee. He added the three sugars she required then went back into the bedroom, slipping into bed behind her and pressing kisses to her shoulder. She stirred, stretching against him, and he smiled at her sleepy (and adorable) little sounds. 

“Morning,” she mumbled. 

“Morning, love.”

“Why are you so cheery in the mornings?” she complained a little, rolling over to face him.

He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling at the way she wrinkled it and stretched again. “Well, I’m waking up in the mornings next to a stunningly gorgeous woman. Why wouldn’t I be in a brilliant mood?”

“Flatterer,” she muttered, nuzzling into his shoulder. 

“Truth-teller,” he corrected. “My mood is even better today, considering it’s Friday and I get you all to myself tonight.”

She smiled a little, making a little humming sound. “That you do,” she affirmed.

“But until that happy time...” he yanked the covers down, laughing at her squawk of protest. “We need to get up and get ready for the day.”

“You’re cruel,” she pouted.

“Nah. ‘Cruel’ would be waking you up like that without coffee.”

“True,” she agreed, and rolled to the side of the bed that had been designated as hers, blowing on the coffee and taking a sip. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Ugh. I have no idea why you insist on waking me up before the alarm.”

He scooted up behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing her neck. “Usually because I can’t stand another minute without your smiling face.”

Rose chuckled a little at that. “You know good and well that I’m not smiley for a while after I wake up.”

“Close enough. C’mon.”

She took a sip of her coffee, then sat the mug down on his nightstand. “Oh, alright.”

Chris left her alone to take care of her morning routine until he heard the shower come on. When he heard the sounds of the spray being interrupted, he slipped into the bathroom and took off his sleep clothes before pulling back the curtain.

Rose shrieked. “You scared me!” she accused him.

“Sorry,” he said as he put his hands on her bare hips. “Couldn’t help myself. Knew you were all naked in here, and suddenly felt the overwhelming need to put my hands on you.” 

Rose grinned, the shower and coffee having improved her mood. “That so?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, sliding his hands up her sides to cup her breasts, fascinated by the rivulets of water sluicing down her chest, then rolling over the mounds of her breasts to the valley between them. 

“Besides,” he went on, “we’ve got a little extra time until we have to leave. Might as well take advantage of it.”

“I think that may be your real reason for waking me up before the alarm.” She gave him a smile and he bent to capture that tongue that teased him from the corner of her mouth. 

When he pulled away, leaving both of them a little breathless, he smirked at her. “I admit nothing.”

Rose giggled and slipped her arms around his shoulders. “I’m sure you don’t.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and Chris spent the time until the water ran cold doing his best to improve her mood.

~*~O~*~

After he got dressed, Chris crossed into the living room, flipping on the telly as he went. He cut two slices of the banana bread Mrs. Jones had left for him, smiling as he heard the hair dryer start. He'd surprised Rose with it, knowing she'd appreciate not lugging her own back and forth. It hadn’t taken long for her to settle into his life and he loved it. He walked into his lounge to catch a bit of the news.

“ _...London is mourning the loss of five citizens this morning after the explosion of a bus late last night…_ ”

His eyes narrowed as the newscaster went on, describing the multiple injuries and property damage done by the explosion, saying words like ‘terrorist attack’. He watched the footage of the bus burning and emergency personnel swarming the site. It was a horrible scene, made even worse when he noticed the familiar storefronts and the bus number still flashing in the charred wreck: 30W. A chill ran up his spine. If he hadn’t picked her up last night, Rose would have been on that bus. She could have been one of the five people lost.

Scowling, he didn’t hear when Rose came out of his bedroom into the lounge, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “What’re you watching?”

“There was an accident last night,” he answered. “A bus blew up.”

“Oh no!” Rose exclaimed, letting go of him and moving around to look at the screen. It showed people standing on the pavement crying and comforting each other. 

“That’s terrible. Those poor people.” 

“Bus 30W,” he said in a dark voice, trying not to panic.” _Your_ bus. You could have been on it last night.” She situated herself up under his arm, sliding her arms back around his middle and lying her head against his chest as she watched. 

“But I wasn’t,” she reasoned without looking up at him. 

“But you could have been,” he repeated, putting his own arms around her and squeezing her. “I could have lost you. That’s the second time in a month.”

Rose finally looked up at him. “I’m safe, Chris. I’m here with you.”

He kissed the top of her head, then looked back at the screen. The newscaster came back on, reporting about some bill or another that Parliament was debating - a subject that would have greatly interested him any other time, but rang hollow right now. 

“I love you,” he told her. “I have no idea what I would do if something happened to you. I’ve lost someone I cared about before, and I don’t know if I could stand it happening again. Especially to you.”

“Nothing happened to me,” she reminded him. “And I love you, too. Who did you lose?”

“Jabe, the woman I told you about. She died in a lab fire at the university. Awful stuff.”

She nuzzled into him a little closer, and he was comforted by her warmth pressing into his body. “I can’t imagine, love. That must have been terrible.”

He didn’t answer, just squeezed her again, trying to shake the feeling that the universe was trying to take her away from him.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25  
 _April 15, 2016_

Rose slung her bookbag over her shoulder, ready to set out across campus. The last tour of the day had been overbooked, full of pre-freshers hoping to get one last look at the campus before the end of term. Parent questions about meal and laundry services reminded Rose of her overflowing basket back at her flat. It was top on her to-do list. As much as she loved staying over at Chris’ flat, maintaining dual residences was doing a number on her wardrobe. Half the time she couldn’t remember what she had where and had unknowingly grumbled about it last night when she was digging through her overnight bag looking for a sock. Chris’ casual comment about giving her a drawer or two left her speechless and with a million questions. 

Had he said it in jest, or seriousness? Was he trying to smooth out a less-than-ideal situation or suggesting something more? 

Before she could ask, Chris had passed into the en suite, returning a few minutes later brushing his teeth in a moment so full of domesticity it made her heart ache. Never in all her time with Jimmy -- even when they did live together -- was there a sense of home as much as there was with Chris standing shirtless in his jimjam bottoms, scrubbing his teeth hard until toothpaste dripped on his chin. 

Needless to say, the night ended well for both of them. 

Rose smiled as she headed out of the administration building. There were so many moments like that lately. Moments of happiness so acute her toes curled. She pulled out her mobile wanting to send Chris a text, just because. 

“Miss Tyler?” 

Rose stopped on the path, mobile in hand, and stared at the unfamiliar man with the familiar accent. He sounded like Chris, but that’s where the similarity ended. His black cashmere coat covered a well-tailored suit. Blond hair combed forward couldn’t hide a pronounced widow’s peak that molded his face into a perfect ‘M’. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he approached, but there was no warmth in them. Without waiting for a response, he held out his gloved hand in greeting. 

“I’m sorry to startle you, Miss Tyler, or may I call you Rose? My name is Harold Saxon, Christoph’s uncle.” 

“Christoph?” Rose asked, reluctantly taking the man’s hand. His grip was firm.

“Oh, that’s right,” Saxon chuckled. “You would know him as Chris here. We find it quaint that he chooses to carry on under a more common moniker.” 

Rose blinked. 

“You must have so many questions, of course.” Saxon continued and Rose shook her head, as if waking up. 

“I’m sorry, who are you again?” 

Saxon’s face brightened, his brown eyes now dancing. “He hasn’t told you about me? Understandable. I’m Chris’ uncle, Harold Saxon, from Gallifrey. May we sit for a moment?” 

Rose wondered if this Saxon bloke was just a nutter or the real thing, but her eagerness to know more about Chris’ past won out. She nodded and led him to one of the benches that lined the campus walkways. 

Once seated, though, she had a change of heart. Something about _Uncle Harold_ alarmed her. 

“Okay, Mr. Saxon, what can I do for you?” she asked. 

“Straight to the point, good. I admire your frankness. I can tell that’s one of the reasons you’ve risen so far above your humble beginnings at the Estate.” 

The air around them grew colder, and Rose shivered. 

Saxon continued, his voice growing stronger. “Though the difference in your station is not why your relationship can’t continue; not the primary reason, of course.” 

“Can’t continue?” 

Saxon slipped from his pocket a loose photo and handed it to Rose. It was a formal portrait, like the ones of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip released each year as commemorative items. Except this showed an unknown Queen sitting on a gilded bench, identifiably royal by the glittering crown of diamonds and rubies resting on her silver hair. Harold Saxon stood behind her in a navy blue uniform lushly decorated with ribbons and gold. A beautiful, golden-haired woman stood at his side, but Rose’s eyes skimmed over her and latched on a face that she knew. A face she had woken up next to most mornings the past three months. Except she didn’t know _this_ face. 

Sitting clean-shaven and dressed in a crimson uniform marked by a contrasting ivory sash across his chest, was Chris. Dazzling blue eyes matched a few of the ribbons that dangled from his uniform, but his face was a mask, expressionless. 

“You see, _Rose_.” The way he purred her name made Rose want to retch. “Chris is not the _hunky_ , gruff Anatomy/Physiology Lecturer everyone has been cooing about all year. Nor is he the _Doctor_ , the dreamy campus DJ. Chris is Prince Regent Christoph Foreman, only child of Her Majesty Verity Foreman, Queen of Gallifrey.” 

Rose watched his lips move, heard the words come out of Saxon’s mouth, but they entered her brain as a foreign tongue with no translation. 

“Jack Harkness is the Prince.” 

Saxon scoffed, an ugly noise. “Is that what they told you? This is worse than I thought, you poor dear. I’m afraid you’ve been conned.” 

Rose’s mouth felt dry. “But, Chris _is_ a lecturer. He has a doctorate, almost two doctorates. And he _is_ on the radio,” she insisted.

Saxon waved off her comments like annoying gnats. 

“Small roles he chooses to play when he’s bored. Not unlike the role of _boyfriend_ that he’s been playing for the past four months or so.” Rose narrowed her eyes and he continued. “I know these are difficult words to hear, and they should have come from Christoph, not me. But I felt the need to warn you before it’s too late.” 

“Warn me about what?” 

Saxon pointed a long gloved finger at the young woman in the picture Rose had ignored. “That lovely woman right there is Contessa Reinette Poisson of Arcadia. She’s been Christoph’s intended since they were young.”

“Intended? You mean like an arranged marriage?” 

“They’ve known each other all their lives, grown up together. They have a shared history. When Christoph’s mother passed away, Reinette was there for him.” 

Rose looked down at the photo, staring at the stunning woman with the long, gently-curling blonde hair, birdlike cheekbones, and pouty lips. She looked like she’d stepped from the screen of a Disney princess movie. 

“I think you’re beginning to understand. Reinette has the lineage, the upbringing, the sophistication, and the _class_ of a true princess. She is what Gallifrey needs most right now. Christoph has always enjoyed his toys, but it’s time for him to grow up.” 

Anger started flickering to life in Rose at this stranger’s accusations. “How do I know this is picture is even real? I mean, my mate Mickey is good with the computer. He can photoshop himself into the Man U team picture, who’s to say you didn’t do the same with this.” 

Saxon’s threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, now that’s an argument I didn’t expect to get from you. Photoshop! _Very_ clever, Rose. Keep it, then.” He pressed the photo into her hands. “Ask Christoph about it. _Show_ him the photo and hear it from the Prince’s mouth himself.” With that said, Saxon’s eyes narrowed and they lost all humor. His icy words turned the spring air bitter cold. “Hear me out, one last time, Rose Tyler. Christoph _will_ come back to Gallifrey and he _will_ marry Reinette. The future of Gallifrey depends on it, and I will do anything in my power to see that it happens -- including--” he leaned forward and Rose slid back against the side of the bench to stay out of his reach. “Removing any obstacles preventing him from seeing things my way.”

Rose swallowed as the silence lengthened between them. In two blinks, Saxon’s icy smile returned. He clapped his gloved hands together and stood up, as if finishing a board meeting. 

“I’ve been so curious to meet you Rose, ever since I became aware of your arrangement with my nephew.” His eyes travelled up and down her body, lingering in certain places, and Rose shivered. “I’m partial to blondes as well, so if you’re still interested in a man from Gallifrey, look me up.” 

He walked away with a laugh, suddenly flanked on either side by large, burly men who melted from the trees lining the pathway. 

Rose waited until he was out of sight and fled across campus, ignoring odd looks as she flew by. Chris was working in his office preparing for a thesis meeting, but this couldn’t wait. She swallowed back bile as the sciences building came into sight. 

_Prince_ , she thought, as she took the stairs two at a time. _Prince Who_?

~*~O~*~

Chris printed out the last page of the executive summary of his thesis. He knew Dr. Yana, the Department Chair, appreciated a hard copy to look at during their meetings, but damned if he was going to print all two-hundred-thirty-four pages of his report for his advisor. The twenty-eight page summary had killed enough trees as it was. He tapped the stack of pages and ran his hands over them, amazed. Only four months into 2016, and he’d gotten more done on his thesis than almost the entire twelve of last year. Experiments, thoughts, ideas, writing -- all of it had started working in concert, as if they’d been waiting for a missing part to run smoothly. 

There was no question what that part was. Rose stared back at him from his mobile screen, a candid picture he’d snapped as she left his flat one morning, her hair ruffled, her mascara smudged, exposing bare and beautiful brown eyes. Her lips stretched into a smile and head tilted as she had protested the snapshot. God, she was beautiful, most especially when she thought she wasn’t. 

He blackened his mobile in preparation for the meeting about to start in ten minutes. Dr. Yana had been good enough to agree to sit with Chris before leaving next week on a two month University-sponsored sabbatical. Chris was anxious to get his advisor’s opinion on a crucial component of the conclusion of the thesis. If Dr. Yana agreed with it, Chris thought he’d be able to schedule his defense meeting before September; shave off almost nine months. 

The realization was bittersweet. He looked out the window at the buds forming on the trees lining the campus path. Finishing his thesis early meant leaving London, which meant leaving Rose, which wasn’t going to happen. Almost losing her accidently twice this spring made losing her by choice an impossibility. He knew she was his destiny. With that decided, he only had to figure out how to get to the happily ever after part. 

He chuckled humorlessly. 

The door opened, and Chris turned, expecting to see round, white-haired Dr. Yana. Rose stood in the doorway instead, her face ashen, eyes red with tears. He was across the room and pulling her into his arms in a split second. 

“What is it, love?” he asked, as she wriggled in his arms and yanked away.

“I had an unusual run-in on my way home today with someone who knows you,” Rose began, her voice ragged. Chris nodded for her to go on, wracking his brain on who it could have been, when the bottom of his world dropped out at Rose’s next words. “Said his name was Harold Saxon.” 

Chris inhaled slowly and crossed his arms to prevent them from hitting something. “What did he say to you?” Rose stiffened at his tone, and he cursed inward for not filtering it. 

“So he _is_ your uncle.” 

Chris nodded. “Please, Rose, what did he tell you?” 

“Oh my God. It’s all true, isn’t it?” she half-whispered, sinking into a chair. He lowered into the one next to her and reached for her hand, but she pulled it away, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Rose, I need to know what my uncle told you so I can begin to explain.” 

“Explain?” Her eyes met his and his heart twisted at the pain there; watching it morph and change into something stronger. “ _Begin_ to explain? I’m such an idiot. I did it again. Picked another stupid guy who thinks he can walk all over me with his lies.” She thrust a folded piece of paper at him and got up. 

Chris looked down, seeing that it wasn’t a paper but the Royal Portrait taken five years ago, before his mother died. Several versions were taken that year, including the one with Reinette and his uncle. If Saxon gave this to Rose, then she knew everything. 

“Rose…” he started, but she interrupted.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” 

“Yes.” 

“When?” 

“Soon.” 

She snorted. “You can understand why I find that hard to believe.” 

Chris stood up and took a step towards her. “Every day, I wanted to tell you, Rose. But every day, I found another reason not to. At first I told myself it was easier not to complicate things, but then it became too hard to. The things you said about, well, when you said it was pathetic for someone to pretend to be someone else. I didn’t want you to think that about me.” 

Rose put a hand over her mouth then growled out. “You bastard. You let me believe _Jack_ was the Prince. How many other ridiculous things did you make up to get off on?” Her hands were now fists at her sides, and it would have been easier if she had used them on him. They might have done less damage than her words. “Was any of this real? Or were you just playing a part, like your uncle said, with me and everyone else?” 

A string of Gallifreyan curses ran out his mouth. His uncle would never see another Gallifreyan sunrise when he got his hands on him. 

“Rose, I…” 

There was a light knock on the door, and a wrinkled face poked his head around the edge. Dr. Yana looked from Chris to Rose and back, eyebrows high in question. 

“Dr. Foreman, I see you are busy, should I come back another time?” 

Chris opened his mouth but Rose was a blur of movement. “No, please, I’m just leaving.” She grabbed her bookbag and smiled at Dr. Yana and whooshed out the door. It clicked behind her softly.

~*~O~*~

Rose paced her living room like a trapped tiger; back and forth, back and forth. Amy sat on the couch handing her tissues as she criss-crossed the room, alternating between yelling and crying. 

“It can’t be true, Rose,” her roommate said for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

“How can you say that, Amy? He admitted it. He’s a _prince_. A _fucking prince_.” 

“Some would think that’s a tad bit better than a uni lecturer.” Rose shot her a look that meant ‘unhelpful’ and Amy added, “just sayin’.”

“I don’t care about the prince stuff. He could be a vagrant living in a box on the street for all I care. But he lied about it, Amy, for months now. What if Rory wasn’t who you thought he was? What if he had a whole other secret life, a secret wife?”

“Chris isn’t married _or_ engaged.” 

Rose collapsed on the couch next to Amy, her head in her hands. “How do I know that?” she mumbled to the floor. 

She felt Amy scoot over, drape a soothing arm over her shoulder. “You _know_ that, Rose. This uncle guy is a shit, plain and simple. He has some agenda that has nothing to do with you.” 

Rose swallowed. Amy was right about two things. Saxon _was_ a shit and he _did_ have an agenda. Rose had completely forgotten about his final warning. Her only thought after the man slithered away was to find Chris and hear him dismiss all of Saxon’s accusations as nonsense. 

Just how real was Saxon’s threat? 

Amy stood with her hands on her hips and reached over to Rose’s mobile that lay facedown on the table. The home screen was full of texts and missed calls from Chris. She held it up.

“At some point, you’re going to have to talk to him. He’s blowing up your mobile.” 

Rose sighed and got up to take it, turning it black without a second glance. “Let him.” 

Amy took the mobile back. “Just hear me out. What if you talked to him? On your terms.” 

Rose was already shaking her head, but Amy took her hand. “It’s always been my belief that the best defense is a good offense. Confront him about all of this. Finish what you started. Take control, go to him and demand an explanation, somewhere you can get up and leave if it’s not good enough. But don’t you dare sit here and wait for him to come to you. Rose Tyler is _no_ damsel in distress.” 

Rose sighed. Amy was right. _Make a plan, cry later_. Her mum’s mantra had worked for her when Jimmy left her. She had gotten a job at Henriks, moved back to the Estate, and worked hard to pay her debts. Right now, she needed more information before making a plan, crying could wait. 

She took the mobile back from Amy.

~*~O~*~

Chris was frantic. 

His mobile sat on the podium, dark and silent, while he drew stereoisomers on the whiteboard, connecting the hydrogens and carbon molecules with violent marker strokes. The last thing he wanted to do was teach organic chemistry to a group of comatose students on a Friday afternoon. He should be with Rose, patching together whatever was left of their relationship. Just thinking of his bastard uncle made him screw up the cis-2-butene molecule; he wiped the whole thing out with the back of his hand and started again. 

Dr. Yana had been unaware of his poor timing, and Chris spent an hour reviewing a finding that his advisor found exciting. Chris could not have cared less. He’d tapped his foot, frequently checking his watch, waiting for an appropriate time to cut the meeting short and chase after Rose. As soon as Dr. Yana left he called her, leaving a brief message. His next text was to his Organic Chemistry AT asking her to cover his class. Just as he was about to hit send, he remembered she was away. 

By that time the lecture hall was full, and he had every intention of making the students’ day by cancelling until he noticed the University Dean of Students in the back, choosing this day to audit, as was his wont. In between taking questions, drawing molecules, and lecturing from his notes, Chris sent text after text -- Donna’s advice be damned -- refreshing his mobile repeatedly. 

Rose never answered. 

The clock ticked down, and with five minutes left, he heard it. The most beautiful sound in all the world; his mobile vibrating on the podium. 

[Rose] 15/4/16 - 3:55 pm: _I will meet you at your flat in twenty_

Chris dismissed the students, not waiting to hear any feedback from the Dean. He knew the lecture had been shit and didn’t care. Only Rose mattered -- not his thesis, lecturer position, London, or even Gallifrey anymore. 

Rather than calling an uber or hailing a cab, Chris took off towards his flat, slinging his bag across his back. He’d arrive sweaty but faster. 

No one was in his flat, thank God, and he dropped everything by the door, already shedding smelly, damp layers. There was no time for a shower, but he grabbed a kitchen towel, ran it over his sweaty chest, and left it on the counter. Two steps towards the bedroom, he heard a knock, and couldn’t get to the door fast enough. 

Reinette stood on the landing. Reinette, not Rose. 

“I don’t have time for your games right now, Reinette,” he spat out. “You have to get out of here.” 

“And you have to listen to me, Christoph, because I am no longer playing games.” Reinette pushed by him into his living room, not glancing once at his state of undress as she had last fall. Something had changed. 

“Seriously, Reinette,” Chris said, stepping towards her and taking her arm to guide her out the door. “I don’t have time for this right now. Someone is com…” 

“Someone is already here,” a voice announced flatly.

Rose stood in the doorway, looking small and vulnerable. Chris flashed back to a month ago and how broken she had looked lying in the A&E. Standing in his doorway, her eyes flitted from his bare chest, to his hand on Reinette’s arm, to Reinette herself. And he watched her shatter. 

Without a word, she shut the door, and Chris heard her footsteps hurry down the stairs.

“Rose!” Chris started after her before whirling back to Reinette. “Go home. If I ever see you in London again, I swear --”

“Christoph, please, you must listen to me.”

“No!” He advanced on her, getting some small satisfaction from the way she retreated, only to have it quickly drain away when he raised his arm to point in the direction Rose had gone and Reinette flinched. Something else to add to the list of things Saxon would answer for. “I made the mistake of not chasing after her once before. I’m not going to do that a second time. Anything you have to say can wait until I’ve fixed this.”

“She is in danger!” she called after him when he went into his bedroom to get a clean shirt.

“I know that!” He yelled back at her. “Saxon was here, in London, and if he knows about Rose, then he knows she’s a threat to _his_ plan for _my_ life. Rose is in danger and it’s all my fault, but I can’t protect her if I don’t go after her.”

“The ‘moment’ we shared in Gallifrey,” she started, her voice cautious, “it was her face - Rose’s face you saw instead of mine, was it not?”

He stepped back into the living room. “Yeah.”

“Then I will come with you.”

“I think you’ve done quite enough, Reinette.”

“And I will never be able to apologize to you enough for that, but you may need my help to convince her of your sincerity.”

It was only then that her behavior clicked in his mind. Without all of the simpering, primping, and calculated touches, she appeared almost withdrawn. And he’d stood before her half-dressed for a full minute but not once had her eyes left his.

“Come on.” 

The drive to Rose’s flat was predictably uncomfortable but thankfully brief, and Reinette only nodded when he barked a “stay here” at her before hopping out.  
He couldn’t even think as he stepped into the lift and rode it to the top floor, his mind so full of self-recriminations he barely remembered to compose himself before knocking on Rose’s door.

Amy answered, her lips twisting into a wry grin when she saw him. “How in the world have you managed to keep your identity a secret this long? Have you ever Googled yourself? You’ve got a Wikipedia page! Rose obviously never tried looking you up, because this would have...”

“Where is she?” 

“She’s supposed to be meeting you right now.”

 

Chris’ heart sank. “There was a misunderstanding. She took off, but I didn’t see where she went.”

“Well, she didn’t come back here.”

“Amy, please.”

She raised her hands. “Seriously. She’s not here. The only other place I can imagine she’d go is her mum’s.”

He barely suppressed the urge to groan. His first visit to the Estate, and it would be with Reinette in tow, no less. He nodded and turned to go.

“You sure you want to go there?” Amy called after him. “I mean, you’re all… _you_. It’s not exactly Mayfair.”

“If that’s where Rose is then I’m going.”

Amy smiled as she gave him the directions to the Powell Estate. “And if this works out, if the two of you end up back together, I want to be called Royal Matchmaker or something.”

He shook his head all the way back down to the car.

“Not one word about where we’re going,” he said to Reinette as he put the car in gear.

A few minutes later he learned that Reinette didn’t need words to fully convey her disgust over something. Their arrival at the Powell Estate was enough to overwhelm even her practiced social mask.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26  
 _April 15, 2016_

Running blindly, Rose burst through the door of her mum’s flat. 

“Rose!” her mother greeted her, but then her voice immediately turned suspicious at the sight of the tears tracking down her face. “What’s wrong?”

Rose opened her mouth to speak but only a mangled sob escaped.

Jackie’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do?”

Shaking her head, Rose allowed herself to be pulled into her mum’s embrace.

Jackie rubbed her back as she sobbed. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Big deep breaths, and then you tell me all about it.”

Several minutes passed before she could even manage two words: “He lied.”

“About what?”

“Everything,” she scoffed. 

Jackie made a noise back at her, but continued the comforting circles on her back. “‘e can't have lied about everything.”

“ _Everything_ , Mum. He's -- he's the bloody _prince_ of Gallifrey! I don't even know if the man I fell in love with actually exists.”

Jackie pulled back and stared at Rose, wide-eyed. “A prince?”

“Yeah.”

“Like…” she gestured vaguely at her head.

“Yeah.”

“How big of a country?”

“Mum!”

Jackie looked flustered. “You’re right. That doesn’t matter…” Her voice trailed off. “‘E’s rich, then, I guess -- No, I don't care about that, he hurt you... But if you married him, would you get a crown?”

Rose chuckled through her tears. Some things never changed. She wiped her cheeks with the tips of her fingers and sat straighter.

“There, that’s better,” Jackie smiled, cupping Rose’s cheek for just a second. “Now, tell your mum all about it.”

Jackie listened as quietly as she could, Rose guessed, considering she’d just discovered that her daughter had been dating a prince. She interjected every few minutes to ask questions that Rose didn’t have the answers to. And the more she asked, the more Rose realized she knew nothing about the man she’d been dating for the last four months. He was a prince, but did that mean he’d be King one day or was there someone ahead of him in the line of succession? And with his beautiful _intended_ back home, what was a chav from the Estate to him? Had she been just a good time?

“Sweetheart, you’ve been happier than I’ve ever seen you these past few months. If you walk away from him now, I’m worried you'll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t even know that I have a choice. I mean, what --” Rose stiffened at the sound of a knock on the door. 

“What?”

“It's him.”

“Oh, pish. How do you know? We don’t get many horse and carriages here.” 

Jackie got up from the sofa and walked over to the door, pulling it open without looking through the peephole first. Her rumbling “harumph” when she saw who was standing there was plenty of indication who it was, even before Rose heard Chris ask, “Is Rose here?”

“I should slap you, you know,” Jackie blurted out in response.

Rose hopped off of the sofa. “Mum! You can’t threaten --” 

“-- tell you what, you _know_ when you’ve been slapped by a Prentice woman. I don’t care if you’re the bleedin’...”

Anything else her mum said became background noise as Rose rounded the door to see him standing there. He looked almost naked without his leather jacket, the fact that he was without it a sure testament to how quickly he’d followed after her. When the tension fled from his shoulders at the sight of her, he seemed so much smaller than normal.

Relief shone from his eyes as he breathed her name like a whispered prayer. “I swear to you that wasn’t what it looked like.”

Jackie snorted. “Of course it wasn’t. Never is.”

Chris’ eyes turned pleading. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

When her mum opened her mouth to answer him, Rose spoke over her. “We’re going, Mum.”

Jackie put her hands on her hips and turned her fulminating glare from Chris back to Rose. “What do you mean, you’re going?”

“He’s right. We need to talk. We can’t do that here.” Her whole life Rose had promised herself that she would never become one of those rowing couples on the Estate. She wasn't about to start now, so doing this in her mother’s doorway was not going to happen. And it looked like there was no way Jackie Tyler would keep her nose out of their conversation long enough for anything to get resolved if they stepped inside. She pressed a kiss onto her mum’s cheek. “I’ll come back up to say goodbye before I leave.”

Chris extended his hand when she stepped out onto the walkway, but Rose only eyed it for a moment before moving past him toward the stairs. There was a sigh from behind her and then the sound of his boots on the concrete. She tried not to think about how she didn’t hear her mum’s door close.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Rose turned to face him. “I think the beginning is a pretty good place to start, yeah?”

"I never meant to lie to you. I never said I wasn't the prince."

Rose huffed a sardonic laugh and shook her head, putting her hands up. "No. No way. You don’t get to start with that. A lie by omission is still a lie. You _knew_ I thought Jack was the prince, Chris.” She touched her forehead. “ _UGH_! Is that even your real name?" 

“Yes, it is my real name. I was born Christoph Thomas Sladen Hartnell Foreman.”

Rose’s nose wrinkled as she mouthed each name. “All of that, huh?”

He shrugged helplessly. “It’s customary to honor --”

“I know that. I know….” She paced a few steps away from him. “What I don’t know is _why_. Why any of this? Why _me_?”

“I hid my identity because I didn’t want to be treated differently than anyone else. At home, all people see is the crown. I’m constantly surrounded by people who tell me what they think I want to hear - if I wanted that do you think I’d have ever become friends with Donna?” She couldn’t help a weak smile. That seemed to encourage him because he halved the distance between them, his voice softening. “And you… Rose, you’re amazing. From the very first moment I met you I knew you were special. Your smile touched places inside of me I thought would never feel warmth again. And then there you were, dropping into my life over and over again, like the universe was trying to tell me something.”

He edged closer and stretched out his hand to wipe away her tears with his thumb. Rose pressed into the gentle touch for a moment before pulling away, Chris’ eyes pleading with her. He opened his mouth to speak but a knock on the stairwell door drew their attention and he made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat instead.

Through the glass door, the first thing Rose saw was platinum blonde hair, and her heart sank. Reinette. 

“You brought _her_ here?”

“She insisted --”

Rose snorted. “I’ll bet she did. Look, if you want --”

“I want you,” he blurted, silencing her. “No one else. I'd hoped to do this in a more romantic setting, but this will have to do. I love you, Rose, and I want you to go back to Gallifrey with me. Be my princess."

Her mouth fell open. "You're serious?"

"If I was doing this as planned, I'd have procured a ring."

She laughed, a hollow, angry sound. "What's next, Chris? You'll shower me in jewels, wrap me in furs, and I'll want for nothing?" 

"No -- I mean, yes," he stammered. "It'll be a life of luxury, but that's not what I'm proposing. I know that's not what matters to you." 

"You're right, it doesn't." 

His hand reached for hers. "And it doesn't matter to me, either. I want you to be my _wife_. 'Princess' is just a title that comes with me. Nothing more."

Rose dodged his hand by gesturing to the graffiti stained brick walls all around them. “And this is what a ‘Princess’ looks like to you?”

She almost batted his hand away when he cautiously reached between them to place it over her heart. “ _This_ is what a princess looks like to me.”

Her breath caught, and fresh tears threatened to fall. Whatever else happened - no matter how today ended - there was no question in her mind that he loved her, and she’d hold that knowledge in her heart for the rest of her life. 

"I - I can't, Chris. I have to think about this. I need more time."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but Reinette knocked again. Tucking her hair back behind her ear unconsciously, Rose looked the other woman up and down as Chris opened the door. She looked so...so… _glamorous_ , like she’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine, while Rose was wearing jeans with boots and had long ago wiped off her makeup along with her tears.

Chris’ back was to her, but she could hear him clearly just the same. “Reinette, now is not a good time.”

“Forgive me, Highness, but I think that what I need to say must be said before any more time passes.”

“Very well,” he spat. “Out with it.”

“You misunderstand. I do not need to speak with you, I am here for Rose.” She looked over Chris’ shoulder at Rose, who blinked in surprise.

“I forbid it,” Chris stonewalled, his voice hard. 

Reinette laid a hand on his arm. “Trust me, Christoph.”

“I have no reason to.”

The elegantly-dressed woman at the door shook her head sadly. “No, you do not. I understand that. However, earning your trust must begin somewhere.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Rose volunteered before she could even think about what she was saying. Chris turned around and looked at her incredulously. 

“You don’t have to.”

“’s fine,” she assured him, but from the deep furrow in his brow, it didn’t seem to help much. 

“Come, Rose. Why don’t you show me a bit of your home?”

Rose nodded, and Chris looked as if he was about to grab her back when she stepped past him and out of the stairwell, but he kept his hands clenched at his sides.

Reinette hooked her arm through Rose’s and started to lead her away. “Highness?” she turned around to look at him, and Rose turned, too, noting the disturbed, mistrustful look in his eyes. “I have ordered a car. We will be back before it arrives.”

“See that you are,” Chris growled, stepping into the courtyard. 

Rose cut to the chase as soon as they were far enough away. “Why do you want to talk to me, Reinette? Or should I be calling you something else? Are you a princess or something? I have no idea what the hell is going on here anymore.”

“I am a Contessa. Contessa of Arcadia, to be precise, but you may call me Reinette. And as for your other question, I wish to set your mind at ease. It was not my idea to marry the Prince, that was only my plan when my mind was not my own. Oakdown - Harry, Christoph’s uncle - groomed me from when I was very small to take over as Queen once I had lured Christoph into marriage. And there have been many times throughout the years when I feared for my life after displeasing him.” Reinette pulled Rose to a stop and turned to face her. "I have known Christoph my entire life. Nothing I ever did earned me the soft looks that he gives you. And I have never heard him speak to anyone the way he does you. He loves you, Rose. He loves you madly.”

“He lied to me,” she said, tears welling up against her will. “He let me believe that Jack was the Prince and he was Captain of the Guard.”

“I know that he did, and it was wrong of him.”

“You’re damned right it was.” Too late, Rose realized she probably shouldn’t be swearing in front of royalty. Clearing her throat, she went on. “I have no idea who he is.”

“You do, probably better than any of us. The Prince is a good man.” 

“Would a good man lie about who he is?”

Reinette smiled at her, almost indulgently, and laid a bejeweled hand on Rose’s arm. “He lied to you about his title. Not the kind of man he is. Despite the Prince’s...perfidy, you would do well to give him a chance to explain. It is clear that you love him as well. There is nothing to stand in the way of that love, save your anger.”

“Shouldn’t I be angry?” Rose demanded, shaking off Reinette’s hand. 

“I certainly would be,” Reinette agreed. “But do not let it overrule your love for him. It is a mistake that I think you would regret deeply.”

“Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you see where I come from.” Rose looked around her and took in the cars passing close by with their stereos blaring, the girls walking by dressed to go on the pull and swearing profusely, the lingering smell of stale urine. “This is my life, Reinette. I’m common as dishwater. He would be much better off with you.”

“No, that is where you’re wrong. If Christoph and I were to marry, we would both be miserable. We do not love each other.”

“Someone _like_ you, then. Even if by some miracle this works out, I can’t be a -- a princess. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to act or how to talk.”

Reinette pulled away, smiling at Rose brightly. “If that is all that is stopping you, you need not worry. Christoph will be dismayed if you change - he loves you for who you are now - but I will gladly teach you all of the things you need to know for formal occasions. The little details… how to sit and stand in formal company. Proper addresses and the like. Elocution, if you will.”

“You would do that?” Rose asked, incredulous.

“With pleasure,” Reinette smiled and squeezed her hand. “After all, I have been charged with making the Prince happy. And nothing has ever made him happier than you.”

~*~O~*~

Chris wasn’t sure it was a good sign when Rose and Reinette returned arm-in-arm, but it warmed him to see them stop and hug when they were still a short distance away.

He walked up to Rose when they got closer, caution warring with hope. His heart sank when she looked up at him, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying. Then, before he could say anything, she gasped and shouted “Mum!” as she dashed back towards the stairs, Chris close on her heels.

“What’s wrong?”

“She knows about you!”

His mind whirling with the reasons that might be a problem, he followed her up the stairs and into Jackie’s flat.

“-- Rose’s bloke --” was all he heard before Rose grabbed the mobile out of Jackie’s hand and ended the call.

“Hey! What the --”

“No, Mum. Who have you already called?”

“No one!” At Rose’s incredulous look she nodded at the two of them, where they stood only inches apart. “‘ad to make sure ‘e was still your bloke first, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well…” Rose looked over her shoulder at him, but turned back to her mum without finishing her thought and his heart sunk a little further. “It’s called a secret for a _reason_ , Mum. You can’t tell _anyone_.”

“Christoph?” Reinette called from behind him.

When he turned to face her, he heard Jackie loudly whisper, “‘s that Camilla?” Rose hushed her, but there was a flicker in Reinette’s eyes that said she’d heard.

“What is it?” Chris asked.

“The car has arrived.”

“Good. Hold it for me. I’m coming with you.”

“Wait, what?” Rose blurted. 

Chris could only imagine the expression on Rose’s face in that moment. “I will wait for you in the car,” was all Reinette said before leaving. 

He nodded, grateful for her discretion, and watched her walk away before turning his attention back to Rose. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jackie duck into a room and close the door. He’d have to thank her later. “I have to go back --”

“Yeah, ‘course you do. ‘s fine.”

He let her finish, hating the pain in her voice and the way her shoulders drooped. “And I want you to come with me.”

She blinked up at him. “What?”

“You’re in danger here. My uncle… he’s ruthless. I would have never expected him to show up here, confront you like that. He must be getting desperate.”

Rose paled.

“What’s wrong?”

“With everything else, I forgot to tell you. Your uncle told me he didn’t have a problem ‘removing obstacles’.”

His stomach turned and he had to pry open his jaw in order to speak. “You’re coming with me. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Chris --”

He took her hand, and her protest died. “I meant what I said downstairs. And when you’re ready, I hope --”

“We need to _talk_ about everything else first.”

“I know. And we will. But in the meantime, let me do what I can to keep you safe. Please.”

“Here you go,” Jackie said as she returned to the room and thrust a carryall into Rose’s arms. “It’s the best I could do with what little clothes you left here, but you’ve got a few days’ worth in there.”

“Mum, I don’t know --”

“I do. If some nutter threatened you and Himself thinks he can keep you safe, then you go with him. You two can sort yourselves out when that’s done. And if Camilla thinks she --”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Her name is Reinette. She’s my cousin. Nothing more.”

Jackie leveled a distrustful glare at him.

“It’s true, Mum. She’s… well, I think she could be a friend.”

Jackie’s glare sharpened. “‘M not above slapping royalty. I just want you to remember that.”

“That won’t be a problem.” He gestured to Rose’s carryall. “May I?”

She shifted her grip on the handle. “It’s not heavy.”


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27 

The instant Chris stepped out of the building, the driver of the car hurried around to open the rear door. Eyes trained on her shoes and praying that none of her mum’s neighbors had looked away from their tellies, Rose let Chris’ hand on her elbow guide her to the car.

A hand appeared in her vision. “Your bag, Miss?”

She blinked up at the driver and gave him the bag automatically. Before she could drop her arm, Chris’ hand slid down it and wrapped around her fingers. Then, with a tiny nod, he encouraged her to get into the car.

Reinette was already inside, so Rose slid in beside her. As soon as she was seated the other woman took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. 

The door closed, and Rose felt a stab of disappointment that Chris wouldn’t be sitting beside her. Despite her anger and hurt he was familiar, and a part of her needed him close because her life had stopped making sense. A few minutes later, with Chris seated in the front beside the driver, they pulled out of the Estate.

It was early enough in the evening that the rush had died down and traffic was flowing smoothly, but it was still going to be at least 20 minutes before they got to the airport. Just as she was trying to figure out what to say to break the silence, Chris pulled out his mobile.

“I have already spoken with Mattias,” Reinette offered.

“Thank you,” he said over his shoulder, but dialed anyway. “This is Prince Christoph. I’ve left my car at the Powell Estate. If you could send someone to pick it up, I won’t be needing it for a few days… Thank you.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and immediately began dialing again. Rose barely had time to wonder who he was calling before he began to talk. “Sarah Jane. Christoph. A situation has arisen at home that must be dealt with immediately. I may not return in time for class on Monday… Yes. Good… Also, if you could excuse Miss Rose Tyler from her classes as well; she will be traveling with me… Tyler: T-Y-L-E-R. Third year art student… I will. Thank you.”

 _Sarah? Could it be Sarah Smith?_

“Did you just call the President of WCU on her mobile?” Rose asked when he ended the call.

Chris twisted in his seat and threw her his I’m-so-clever grin. “There are protocols in place for royalty attending university incognito, you know. I’m not even the only one currently enrolled.”

“How does no one recognize any of you?”

Too late, Rose realized what she’d asked; she was the prime example, having spent months in close contact with him even before there was _close_ contact, and she’d never suspected he was anything more than what he appeared.

By the look in Chris’ eyes, he was thinking the same thing. “For the most part, people see what they expect to see. If you were in Tesco, for instance, you wouldn’t think, ‘Hey, that’s someone famous,’ you’d think, ‘That _looks like_ someone famous,’ because you don’t expect to have that kind of encounter in a market. With me specifically, Gallifrey is so small, I’m not well-known enough outside of it to even get that.”

“Coming up on the airport, Highness.”

Chris’ gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he turned and face the front again. “Very good.”

Rose didn’t know what she was expecting, never having flown before, but certainly not that the driver would take them around to the back of the building and park the car only a few feet away from a large white plane. Reinette’s hand closed around hers again and Rose shut her mouth with a snap.

“Patience,” Reinette said when both men got out and Rose nervously reached for the door handle. 

“What?” She’d barely spoken the word when the door opened and she saw Chris’ hand extend expectantly into the place where it had been. _Oh._

He helped her out of the car, and she recognized the lingering heartache in his eyes when she pulled away to walk to the base of the stairs leading up to the plane. They had so much to say to each other, but even if they had the time, standing on a tarmac with the plane’s engines roaring in their ears was not the place.

She fought back a stab of disappointment when Chris didn’t follow her but turned back to the car to help Reinette out as well. Whatever the other woman said to him was drowned out, but by the shake of his head and her hand on his arm, it was clear that he was agitated and that she was trying to calm him. She fought the rising jealousy at the sight of someone else touching him - particularly someone she’d just been told was his intended.

Rose sighed as she climbed the stairs. She loved him, and it would be so easy to forget that Harold Saxon had ever entered her life. To pretend that Chris himself had told her the truth and had invited her to his home for a romantic getaway. To pretend that his proposal had taken place somewhere special rather than in the Estate’s stairwell.

A flight attendant greeted her at the door. The first thing that came to mind when she stepped into the cabin was that the inside of the plane was bigger than the outside. It was split into two smaller rooms. The main room where she was held two tables, one with four spacious leather chairs, the other like an intimate cafe in the sky complete with fresh flowers on the table. Through a wood-paneled doorway, she could see a lounge with a plush couch and two more leather chairs facing it. A closed door suggested there was even more beyond. 

It was going to be an interesting ride. 

As soon as the plane was in the air, Rose began to get an idea of what life with Prince Christoph might entail. The flight attendant asked her what she would like to drink, rattling off a long list of choices from exotic teas to craft beer to complicated cocktails. Rose selected sparkling water with a lime, and nearly dropped the heavy crystal glass it arrived in. Before the well-intentioned attendant could start on the menu of Gallifreyan fare available, Rose interrupted and politely declined. Between the turbulence of the take-off and the idea of literally and figuratively flying into the unknown, skipping a meal sounded like the best option.

“The flight is four hours, Rose,” Chris told her across the table. “We should land about elevenish. If you want to lie down, I can have the bed made up for you.” 

“Bed?” 

“There’s a bedroom in the back of the plane; you won’t be disturbed.” 

Rose shook her head; her stomach was in knots sitting upright, she could only imagine what it would be lying down. “Reinette can take the bed if she wants.” 

Chris nodded, and Reinette murmured thanks before she headed to the back of the plane. 

“Rose…” Chris started once they were alone, but stopped when she held up her hand. 

“Not here. Not now.” 

“When?” His eyes were bright when he reached over to take her hands. “I have so much more to say to you.” 

She looked away and out the window seeing only her blurry reflection; it matched how she felt.

“Let’s get things sorted with your uncle first.” 

Chris nodded, running his thumb over her knuckles once before releasing her hand. His eyes stayed fixed on her, intense and anxious, like she might disappear into the dark void forty-thousand feet above Europe. Sleep crept over her finally, and she dreamed of stormy blue and black skies.

~*~O~*~

Mattias had plotted the fastest flight path and the plane touched down just after eleven. Despite the late hour, the palace was awash with light when their car pulled up. A footman stepped forward to open the door and jumped aside when Chris barreled out and hurried up the front steps. He paused before entering, steeling himself for whatever depravity he might find inside. Before he could turn the handle another car sped up the curved driveway and screeched to a stop behind him. Dressed far too casually for the Captain of the Guard, Jack exited the car and met the group at the door. 

“Your Highness!” He glanced twice at Rose and Reinette, but his face remained hardened. 

“Where the hell have you been, Harkness?” Chris demanded. “Why do I keep coming home to this?” He waved at the palace windows lit bright against the dark sky. 

Jack hesitated, his mouth hanging open as if he was grasping for words that wouldn’t come.

“Christoph,” Reinette stepped forward, “I will tell you what the Captain will not. Oakdown dismissed him a month ago for insubordination.” 

Chris glanced at Jack who didn’t meet his gaze, but nodded once. 

“You should have told me. Both of you!” He glared at Reinette and Jack. 

“Maybe now isn’t the time for the honesty speech, Chris,” Rose suggested.

His heart clenched at her reprimand. Without saying anything further, he opened the door. 

The front parlors, lavish rooms that had once held Ambassadors and other foreign dignitaries, were in shambles. Toppled chairs leaned against each other, broken glass glittered on the parquet floors, and the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air. Antique side tables were covered with drug paraphernalia, their gold leaf edging burnt. In the blue parlor, a disheveled woman lay unconscious on a settee. 

Chris chewed on the inside of his cheek and balled his fists for self-control. He wanted to hit something -- no, some _one_ \-- hard. Wilfred shuffled towards him, lightening his mood just a bit. At least his valet was still here and safe. 

“Your Highness,” he said, eyes glistening. “I’m ashamed you have arrived home to this.” 

Chris placed a hand on Wilfred’s shoulder, unsure who was steadying whom. “No worries, Wilfred. I will take care of everything. But can you please escort Reinette and Rose to a safe, _untouched_ part of the palace?” 

At Rose’s name, Wilfred’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Of course, Highness.” The old man nodded to Reinette and bowed to Rose, whose wide-eyed expression would normally have been comical. But nothing about this night was funny. Or normal.

Oh, how he wished her first glimpse of the palace had been different. He stepped to her and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “Please, go with Wilfred, Rose. He will see to you until I return.” 

Amber eyes gazed back at him with determination and she shook her head. “No. I want to stay with you.” 

He wished he had time to untangle the multiple meanings to that sentence. Wished he could drop to his knees and beg forgiveness: for his lies, his duplicity, for the state of his home. But first there was his uncle to deal with. He brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers, acquiescing. 

“Jack, you’re with me,” Chris said, jaw firm. He knew where to find his uncle. 

The Royal Study had been transformed to part opium den, part harem, and in the middle of it all sat his uncle, lounging on the floor against a stack of cushions. Lucy Cole and another unknown woman clung to his sides. Jack crossed the room and threw open the patio doors and the smoke-filled air cleared. 

“Ahhh….darling nephew,” Saxon slurred. “You’ve come to join me in our little celebration.” His eyes slid past Christoph, who followed his gaze to where Rose and Reinette stood side-by-side in the doorway. “Oh, and you brought some friends. Good. As I told your _girlfriend_ ,” he sneered at Rose, “I never have enough blondes.” 

“Get up, Saxon.” 

“Oh, is that what you’re calling me now?” He rose unsteadily to his feet, untangling himself from long naked arms. 

“I can think of quite a few things to call you.” Saxon’s laugh was long and shrill as he wobbled over to the bar, formerly the Queen’s desk. _My mother’s desk_ , Chris thought. “Jack, alert the Guard and have them pack up my uncle’s residence. Put the plane on stand-by.” Jack nodded and moved out onto the patio, mobile in hand. 

Saxon poured a drink as if nothing was amiss, his pupils constricted to tiny black pinpoints. He knocked back the drink effortlessly and filled the glass again, raising it in Rose’s direction. Chris stiffened and stepped to block his view. 

Saxon then shifted his cat-like eyes to Reinette. “Sweet Reinette, I tried. I really did. All those years, throwing the two of you together, hoping nature would take its course. I mean look at you!” He raked his eyes up and down Reinette. “That body, those legs. It should have been easy. You’d have to be insane -- or gay -- to not want some of that.”

“Enough, Saxon.” Chris ground his teeth. 

“But no!” Saxon continued ignoring him. “Not a kiss, not a grope in the dark. Nothing between the two of you. Year after year. Saint Christoph,” he snarled. “Disgustingly diligent, horrifically honorable. Christoph the fucking choirboy! Never a glance at Reinette. Always at someone else. So I had to take matters into my own hands.” He swallowed another large gulp. “Did you ever think it strange, _my boy_ , that none of your relationships ever worked out?” 

Chris’ eyes narrowed at his uncle, trying to decide if there was any truth in the slurred words.

Saxon shot him a wide, crooked smile. “It didn’t take much, usually a few thousand pounds, and _poof_ , they would disappear. Most were thrilled with the windfall. There were a few that needed a bit more of a _shove_ to get the message.” He stared at Chris over the top of his glass. “Poor, sweet Lynda with-a-y. And that tree surgeon, what was her name...” 

“You didn’t.” Chris tasted bile in the back of his throat. Jabe. Exotic, brilliant Jabe. And Lynda, sweet and innocent. 

Saxon took another drink, alcohol dribbling down his chin unnoticed. The mantel clock ticked away.

“This one,” he nodded at Rose, and Chris felt pulled between protecting both women from his lecherous uncle. “She should have been easy. Half a quid should have been enough to send her on her way -- “ 

“Shut up, Saxon.” 

“But I felt bad for you, Chris. I mean everyone needs to sow their royal oats. Nothing like doing it down and dirty.” He walked around the desk, bumping his hip hard enough against the edge it would leave a bruise, but his face showed no response. “I get it. I really do. Why do you think I have Lucy over there?” He laughed cruelly, and Chris noticed Lucy slip out of the room, her head low. “I figured you’d be in, out, and done with your bit on the side in no time. But it seems you like them rough just as much as I do.” 

Chris was almost to his uncle, his hands at the ready, when Jack stepped in, holding him back. 

“Don’t, Your Highness.” 

Saxon’s eyes glinted at him, urging him on. “All you had to do was _fuck _her!” He stabbed his finger at Reinette. “Once or twice. But no, you couldn't do that, could you. You _fell in love_ with the low-life tramp from the Estate, instead. Well _that_ wasn't going to work!” Chris’ breath came quicker now as if expecting his uncle’s next words. “She should have been easy to kill. Who knew she was so quick on her feet, jumping out of the way of that car. And the bus, well...that was unfortunate.” __

__He heard Rose gasp behind him and he wrenched away from Jack’s grasp, grabbing his uncle and throwing him up against the wall. Uncontrollable rage flooded his vision. He heard a scuffle behind him but he didn’t care. All he cared about was making his uncle’s head one with the wall._ _

__“Chris.”_ _

__Rose laid a hand on his arm and just like that, the all-consuming anger drained out of him. He dropped his hands and stepped back, trying to catch his breath, eyes glaring at his uncle._ _

__“And my mother?” he growled, his voice dangerous and low._ _

__Saxon snorted. “As if I would have harmed my own sister. Then again, had she lingered any longer...well, who knows. Needs must.”_ _

__Without warning, Saxon jumped to the side and threw his glass against the wall. It shattered, pieces ricocheting back and striking him in the face. Blood trickled from his temple and down his cheek, but he continued his tirade without notice._ _

__“It should have been me!” he screamed, pounding his chest. Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes were wild. “Me! I’ve been running Gallifrey while you’ve been hiding away in your ivy towers, too afraid to live and lead. This,” he waved his arm in a circle and almost fell over. “This should have been all mine!”_ _

__Chrs was done. He was done with listening to the sociopath who had once been his uncle, done hearing what was either lies too incredible to believe or truths too horrific to imagine._ _

__“Enough!” he yelled, and his uncle paused. “You’re done, Saxon.”_ _

__Jack stepped to Chris’ side, his face grim. “What do you want done with him, Highness?”_ _

__He wanted him dead in that moment. He wanted to wipe the smile off of his uncle’s face and make him pay for the innocent lives that he’d taken. Chris didn’t think he had ever wanted anything more in his life._ _

__Then he felt Rose slip her hand into his, reminding him there _was_ one thing more important. _ _

__“Finish packing him up and take him to the airport. Send him away, far away. Somalia, Syria, Serbia, somewhere with an S. I don’t care.”_ _

__Drugs or alcohol had finally overwhelmed his uncle; Saxon’s head lolled as Jack half-dragged him towards the East Room. Chris leaned against the desk, still holding Rose’s hand, not wanting to ever let it go._ _

____

~*~O~*~

Rose waited for someone to yell _Cut!_ and the scene to end; the night seemed so unreal. Entering the palace had felt like stepping into a Quentin Tarantino remake of a Disney Princess classic. All the fairy tale elements were present but covered in a greasy, vile sheen. Harold Saxon had trashed the palace worse than a crowd of hooligans in the pub after a footie loss. With her artist’s eyes, Rose could tell some of the damage to the artwork and furniture was irreparable. 

But that wasn’t what broke her heart. They stood by the makeshift bar, Chris gripping her hand like a drowning man. His eyes stared, unseeing, out the open patio doors into the black night. She stepped in front of him, brushing her hand over his ashen face, trying to pull him back to her. His eyes focused on her face as if recognizing she was there for the first time.

“I couldn’t....” he started, “I wasn’t…” Rose pressed her hand against his cheek, willing him on. “Oh, Rose. They’re all gone.” His eyes were sky-blue and full of pain and he leaned his cheek into her hand. 

She brought her other one and cupped his face, holding him firm. 

The _bang_ was muffled, but having grown up on the Estates, Rose knew a gunshot when she heard one. Chris recognized it as well and pushed her away and behind him as he flew down the hall Jack had just gone down. They burst into a room to see Jack carefully taking what looked like an antique gun away from one of the women -- Lucy, Rose thought Saxon had called her. Chris ran to his uncle who was lying in a heap, blood pooling around him. More uniformed guards burst in, and voices yelled commands and instructions. Rose lost sight of Chris in the commotion. 

“My dear, why don’t you come with me.” A calm, soft voice whispered in her ear as a gentle hand tugged on her elbow. She didn’t realize it was Wilfred until they were back in the main entrance hall, now filled with people running about with guns drawn. Wilfred led her up the grand staircase, down a long corridor to a set of dark, wooden doors. Once he unlocked them with a set of keys at his waist, they slipped inside to blessed silence. 

“This is the private residence of the royal family, Miss Rose. You will be undisturbed here.” Wilfred shuffled through the room, drawing curtains and turning on lamps. Unlike the rooms downstairs, the residence was untouched and felt like home. Well, a home with twenty-five foot ceilings. Rose walked to an inviting, overstuffed sofa and sank into it, letting exhaustion win. 

“Can I get you something to eat?” 

“No, thank you, Wilfred. Do I call you that? Or is it sir? I don’t quite know how this works.” 

Wilfred chuckled, his watery blue eyes crinkling with laughter. “Wilfred or Wilf will do just fine. And I’m hoping we will have lots of time to teach you how _this_ works. If I’m not out of line, may I say the Prince is very much in love with you.” 

Rose twisted her hands in her lap. “Well, I’m very much in love with _Chris Foreman_. I don’t think I’m quite as familiar with the Prince as of yet.” 

“Same man, Miss Rose. The most wonderful man I’ve ever known.” Rose tried to cover a yawn. Wilfred pulled a blanket off the back of the sofa and draped it over her. “You rest now. Lord only knows how long they’re going to be clearing up the mess downstairs. This is a tragedy a long time coming.” He shook his head. “If you need anything, there’s a button by the door. Push it and I’ll be here, lickety-split.” His kind grin was the last thing Rose saw before she drifted off to sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28  
_April 16, 2016_

The initial inquiry ended with Harold Saxon taken to the morgue and Lucy Cole in police custody. Gallifrey had done away with capital punishment long ago, and sentencing would consider the years of abuse she had endured at his uncle’s hand. Abuse was never an excuse for murder, but listening to Jack tell him what he knew about Lucy’s plunge into madness, Chris understood her tragic motivation. Even in his death, his uncle had ruined another young woman’s life. 

When Chris couldn’t find Rose in the bedlam, one of the footmen informed him that Wilf had escorted her to the residence. When his valet returned, Chris had pulled the older man into a bone-crushing hug for having the care and insight to get his Rose out of the chaos. He’d not wanted her to see that, and he was glad that Wilf had been thoughtful enough to take her somewhere safe. 

He climbed the stairs slowly now, making his way towards his rooms. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling at the moment; his thoughts were a maelstrom. He’d known for years that his uncle was an evil man, but the depths of his depravity still stunned Chris. 

He’d always believed that he -- Chris Foreman -- wasn’t good enough for the handful of women he’d dated, and they’d left him as a result. Several relationships had ended abruptly with no warning, most notably his relationship with River, an archaeology grad student. They had been out on a pleasant date one evening and without warning the next afternoon he’d gotten a ‘Dear John’ email from her, telling him that they were over and not to call or write. He’d respected her wishes, of course, but her abandonment of him had been puzzling. Now he knew why: she’d been bribed to leave him. The thought made him sick. He’d thought her better than that. 

But the deaths...the deaths were unimaginable. Twice he’d lost a romantic partner to an untimely death, and had always assumed it was rotten luck. Providence. Fate. The Universe out to get him. But his uncle had been in control the whole time.

Lynda had been little more than a flirtation, just a few dinners and coffee. But her death had been a blow anyway. And Jabe… Well, he had cared about her, even though he believed their relationship only temporary. Her death in the lab fire had hurt terribly. The thought that his uncle had caused the death of those two women and five other innocent bystanders on that bus was unbearable. And, now that he was gone, they would never know the extent of his crimes. 

Rose. Chris needed Rose right now, a steadying hand in his to help him calm his mind and make sense of everything. He knew that if he could get to her, lay eyes on her and reassure himself that she was alright, she’d make it better. He just needed to see her - even if she pushed him away. 

It would be a fitting punishment for her to board a plane and get the hell out of his country after everything that had happened. He shouldn’t have brought her but he’d been desperate to keep her safe and, if he was honest with himself, he’d known he would need her. 

Chris reached the door of the residence and stood there for a moment. He had no idea what he’d find when he went in. Rose could be angry, or crying, or afraid. There was no way to know. 

Well, he supposed there was _one_ way to know. 

He turned the knob on the door and entered. 

She was asleep with her back to him, swaddled in a dark red blanket. Her hair spilled off of the pillow and over the side of the couch, and his heart ached just looking at her. 

Chris lifted the corner of the blanket she’d covered herself with and laid down on the couch behind her. He wondered what would happen when she woke up, what she’d have to say to him. He honestly didn’t know if she could forgive him for what he’d done. He wouldn’t be able to blame her if she didn’t.

But he needed her comfort right now, needed it like air. He needed to know that she was close and his - for the moment, anyway. 

He scooted up behind her, pressing his body close to hers, and threw an arm around her waist, taking her hand. Rose threaded her fingers through his, and he did his best not to squeeze her hand. He didn’t want her to wake up, not yet. 

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Love you.”

Chris knew she was asleep, knew she might not remember everything that had happened, everything that may change her feelings on the subject. But he couldn’t help himself. This may be his last chance to say it.

He whispered, so as not to wake her and break the spell. “I love you, too.”

~*~O~*~

The feeling of Rose stirring against him pulled Chris from a light sleep. The first thing he saw was her back as she stretched to look over the couch at the window beyond.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Actually, I think it’s night.”

Chris sat up as well, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “No, it’s morning. That window faces east.”

“Ah.” She twisted her upper body to face him, and asked in a sleepy voice, "Your uncle?" 

Throat tight, he shook his head. For one moment in the study, Chris had been overcome with a blinding hatred for his uncle. That was gone now, replaced with an overwhelming sadness. But, now knowing how much of his life had been manipulated by Saxon, he wasn’t sorry that he’d never have to worry about the man’s evil machinations again. 

He shifted to make room for her when she turned to sit properly, curling one leg under her and angling her body towards him as she reached forward to put her hand on his. “I’m sorry, Chris.”

He shrugged, but wrapped his fingers around hers and allowed the silence to stretch out.

After a moment she pulled her hand away and he reluctantly let her go. “What are you doing here?” 

Any quips about the fact that she was the one in his rooms died before reaching his lips at her slightly accusatory tone. “I needed to hold you, Rose.”

“We need to _talk_ , is what we need to do.”

“I know,” he replied morosely. 

“Can I -- can I freshen up first?”

He stood, making room for her to get up. “Of course. I’ll order us some breakfast. Neither of us ate much yesterday, and… maybe we can talk while we eat? That is, if you want.”

“There was too much going on for us to take time for a meal,” Rose replied, not commenting on the last part of his statement, ignoring the request.

“Yeah. There was.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Then, “There are spare toothbrushes in the closet.”

“Have lots of guests, do you?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Sadness, frustration, and remorse warred inside of him. “No. Not in many years.”

She gave him a curt nod then headed to his en suite, grabbing her carryall as she went. He watched her go and then picked up the phone beside the couch. 

That done, Chris paced the floor, waiting for Rose to come back. A knock on his door came far too soon for breakfast’s arrival, and he opened it to find Jack, now back in uniform, his eyes tired.

“Morning, Highness. I heard you called down for breakfast for two.” His eyes roamed the room behind Chris. 

“Yes, but you don’t seem to have it.” Chris forced a smile. “Go get some sleep, Jack. Any report you have can wait until later. If I need you before then I will call.”

“Actually, I hate to do this, but members of the Council have started to arrive. They have demanded an immediate audience, to discuss...recent events.”

“I need more time.” 

“How much more time?”

Chris looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I just woke up, and Rose is here. She and I need to talk. Think of what she walked into last night...”

“I don’t think they can be held off that long, Christoph.”

“Do what you can. Just…” he ran a hand down his face, blowing out his cheeks. “Just stall them for a little while. Can you do that for me?” 

“I’ll delay as long as possible.” Jack stepped back, shutting the door with him. 

A few minutes later, Chris gritted his teeth at another knock at the door, flinging it open to find Wilf in the corridor with a rolling cart of food. 

“Wilfred! What are you doing here? This isn’t your job.”

“I know, Highness, but I insisted that I be the one to carry the tray up. I wanted to check on you.”

Chris stepped out of the way to let the older man in, secretly a little glad to see him. It warmed him that of everyone in Gallifrey, Jack and Wilfred were the ones who cared about him the most, and their concern touched him.

Wilfred wheeled the cart towards the window that faced the palace grounds. Rolling hills spread out for miles and in the distance stood majestic snow-capped mountains. It was a peaceful spot that Chris loved, and he often took breakfast there while in residence. 

“I’m glad to see you, Wilfred. I don’t think I ever thanked you for bringing Rose upstairs and getting her out of the fracas last night.”

“You did.”

“It bears repeating.”

Wilfred bowed his head. “It was my pleasure, Highness. The poor dear didn’t have any business seeing the darkest side of Gallifrey, not if we want to make a good impression on her.”

Chris winced. “I think it’s too late for that. I imagine she’s a bit soured on us at the moment.”

Wilfred stopped mid-motion of putting a domed serving platter on the table. “I’m quite sure that your presence mitigated all of that.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“It’s clear to see that she loves you, Highness.”

“She did, then she found out that I lied.”

Wilf didn’t say anything, and he wondered if Rose had told him about his deception already. Unable to stop himself from confessing to his oldest confidante, he went on. 

“I let her believe that Jack was the Prince, and that I was Captain of the Guard.”

The furrowed brow and downturned mouth indicated the older man’s censure, and Chris felt small. 

“Why would you do that?”

“I was afraid she’d leave. She loves - loved - Chris. Now, I don’t know if she still does.”

“You have too little faith in her, Highness.”

“I have the utmost faith in her, but I am sure that I’ve bollocksed this up beyond repair. I wanted -” he looked out of the window towards the mountains, sighing heavily, feeling much heavier than he actually was. “I wanted her to be my princess.”

“She’ll make a fine one.”

“She would have.”

“She _will_ , Highness. As soon as she accepts your proposal.”

Chris raised a brow. “How do you know that I proposed?”

Wilfred just smiled at him, eyes twinkling merrily. “The servants always know everything, Highness.”

~*~O~*~

Rose stepped into the en suite and looked around, eyes wide. She might as well have been entering a Turkish bath compared to her loo at home. Columns stretching up to a twelve-foot ceiling made the room seem even bigger than it actually was, but it was far from small. The countertops were white marble and the mirrors were edged with gilt scrollwork. In one corner, three steps led up to a bathtub large enough for a child to swim laps in, and in an alcove beside it the loo itself seemed to grow out of the wall.

She put her carryall on the counter, hesitant to touch anything out of fear her common-ness might leave behind a visible black mark.

In those few seconds between sleep and wakefulness, she’d been happy, Chris at her back, his arm around her, his steady, rhythmic breaths moving her hair just a little. Waking up with him always made her feel safe. Protected. Loved. She could lay like that forever.

Then she’d opened her eyes and confusion had settled in at the jewel-tone stripes inches from her face. Waves of reality had washed over her: she wasn’t at Chris’ flat, curled next to him in his bed. She was in Gallifrey, in what Wilfred had called Chris’ _residence_ when he’d brought her there the night before. She’d woken up on a sofa with Chris spooning her.

Well, that part wasn’t so bad.

Then she’d remembered how he’d lied to her, and the memory was like a bucket of cold water on her head. 

After using the loo, she brushed her teeth and changed her clothes into something a little more appropriate for weather that wasn’t yet spring-like this far north. She pulled on the skinny jeans, fitted t-shirt and shrugged into the oversized cardigan. It wasn’t regal, but neither was she. Besides, she wouldn’t be staying all that long. Whatever arrangement Chris had made with the University president to excuse her from classes wouldn’t last forever, and there was no use trying to pretend to be something she wasn’t. 

Gathering up her things, she walked back into the sitting area. Chris popped up from the sofa as soon as he saw her. She dropped her duffle on the floor and started towards him, then froze when she caught sight of him.

He had changed his clothes. She wasn’t used to seeing him out of his usual jeans-and-jumper kit, unless they were going to bed and he’d slid into a pair of pajama trousers. 

These were most definitely _not_ pajamas.

A white oxford shirt was tucked into grey trousers that fit as if they were cut for him - and in all actuality, Rose realized, they probably were. He wore no tie, and his collar was unbuttoned, letting Rose see the little triangle of flesh she loved to nuzzle. She shook her head to clear that thought. Now was not the time. 

He looked…different, and not just because of the clothes. He seemed taller, somehow, perhaps. He was holding himself differently. His shoulders were back and his head high, although he looked anxious at her arrival.

The photograph that Saxon had shown her had been a shock. Chris’ confession had thrown her for a loop, and then being whisked away on a private plane to a palace in another country had been absolutely mind-boggling. But nothing had brought home the reality of the situation more than this moment, seeing Chris in an entirely new light, realizing that all of this was real and he was, in fact, the Prince of Gallifrey. 

He gestured towards the window where a table was set for two. “Breakfast is here, if you want to eat.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m starving.”

He gave her a bright smile, the smile she’d told him multiple times that she loved, and her heart ached at the reminder of how much she was going to miss it. 

When she got to the table, she stopped, looking down at her plate where a pink and yellow rose lay. She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at it, her mind whirling. “You’ve brought me a rose every time we’ve eaten together since we started dating.”

“Yes.”

She turned to look at him. “Why? Is it my name? Or because I told you I’d never gotten any before?”

Chris shook his head. “No, it’s neither. My… my father loved my mother a great deal. Theirs was almost a fairy tale romance. He put a rose on her plate at every meal, just to show her he loved her, to remind her how special she was to him. I guess…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I just wanted to show you what you mean to me.”

Rose gave a short nod, and Chris stepped forward to pull out her chair, letting her sit before he went to his side of the table. He pulled off the domes that covered the food, and Rose uttered a pleased “Oh!” when she saw that he’d ordered a full English breakfast, her shoulders relaxing a little.

“Wanted you to have a little taste of home,” he explained. 

“I’m glad. I was a bit worried about what we would eat, I admit. I don’t think I would like caviar.”

“I’m not like that, Rose. You know that.”

“Do I?” It wasn’t a challenge, it was a question. 

“Yes,” he insisted. “You know me, better than anyone else ever has.”

So she had heard, multiple times, but that didn’t make it any easier to believe. Rose didn’t answer, just nodded and looked back down at her plate. 

There was another knock on the door, and Chris cursed under his breath before he got up to go answer it, asking Rose to excuse him when he stood. 

Rose heard Jack’s voice from across the room, although she couldn’t quite tell what they were discussing. Whatever it was seemed to be upsetting Chris, and she turned her head to see him drag his hands down his face while Jack looked on apologetically. 

Chris turned his head to look back at her, and she watched him. Jack said something else, and Chris nodded at her without looking at his friend before he started over to Rose, Jack in his wake.

“I’m sorry, Rose, I’m truly sorry, but I have to cut this short. There are matters that have to be attended to right away. I can’t put them off.”

“Your uncle?” Rose guessed.

He nodded. “A funeral has to be planned. No matter what he was, he needs to be buried.”

“I understand.”

Chris looked like he was debating with himself for a moment, then stooped and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise. We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay.”

He turned to Jack. “Take care of her.”

“Yes, Highness.”

Chris grabbed a single piece of toast and spun on his heel

Rose watched the door close, pitying him for what he was having to do. The pressure he was under must be immense, and she wished that she could be there to ease his burden. 

“Rose?”

Her head snapped up to see Jack standing nearby, where Chris had left him, looking almost sheepish.

“You’re here to take care of me?” she asked shrewdly.

“It’s not -”

“I understand. He wants me out of the way while he attends to business, and I can’t blame him.”

“He doesn’t want you out of the way - he’d much rather be with you, I promise you.”

Rose nodded.

“I’m sorry, Rose.”

She looked at him with a quizzical look. “For what?”

“For letting you believe I was the Prince and not the Captain of the Guard.”

“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. I should have dug deeper than the first page of results when I Googled him or something...and what Captain of the Guard would have two doctorates?”

Jack gave a little rueful smile. “Certainly not _this_ Captain of the Guard.”

Rose matched his smile. “That’s what I mean. Anyway, it’s not your fault, but I appreciate your apology.”

“We still friends, then?”

Rose’s grin grew in spite of herself. “Yeah, we’re still friends, I suppose.”

“Well then,” Jack said in a cheery voice. “A friend wouldn’t let you lie about the residence while there is stuff to do. Care to take a walk down to the stables? Maybe see a bit of the grounds?”

She indicated the elegantly-set table just in front of them. “Why don’t we eat first? I’m starving.”

“As you wish, my lady,” Jack told her with an exaggerated bow, then took the seat across from her.

~*~O~*~

Chris closed the door behind him and leaned his back against it. His head told him Jack was right, he needed to go downstairs, take over his role as Prince Regent. His heart, however, had other ideas.

He shoved off the door, pushing away the temptation to go back inside with the sole of his boot. Even before he reached the stairs, the sounds of the household reached him; the swish-tinkle of a broom sweeping broken glass, the whirring of a vacuum, the back-shivering screech of wood furniture being pushed across the floor. The palace was being put back together. At the foot of the stairs, he could see Wilfred directing it all, sending staff left and right with a flick of his hand. All the old man needed was a baton and his role would have been complete.

Chris trotted down the stairs. “Wilfred, what’s going on?”

Wilfred sent a whistling footman carrying a towering pile of pillows down a side hallway before answering. “There’s a lot of things that needed sprucing up, Highness. No time like the present. All sorted out upstairs, then?” Wilfred’s bushy eyebrows raised and his eyes widened full of hope. Chris hated disappointing him.

“Not quite. But,” he added, when Wilfred’s face fell, “I think we might be moving in the right direction.” He nodded towards the Council Room. “Jack mentioned the Council had arrived.”

“Not all of them. Some of them were out of the country when they heard the news. The full council will meet at eight tonight. I am sorry for the late hour. You will find a few of them in the parlor about to have tea.” As if on command, a young woman emerged carrying a tray laden with cups, silver tea pots, and plates of cakes. Wilfred called her over and adjusted the cups so all the handles pointed north. Satisfied, he waved her away. “I am sure they could wait a bit longer, if you would rather be somewhere else.” Wilfred’s eyes flickered towards the second floor.

Chris shook his head. “No time like the present, right?”

He left Wilfred and moved down the hall towards the parlor. A member of the Royal Family had died, but if Gallifrey was in mourning someone had forgotten to inform the palace staff. The mood was light. Staff greeted him with the expected courtesy and bowed heads, but launched back into conversation before he passed from sight. Laughter trickled out of doorways and Chris bumped into the same footman from before, now carrying a floor lamp and whistling a different tune. If he expected sorrow at his uncle’s passing, there was none. Instead, the palace seemed to have let out a deep breath that it had long been holding.

Bypassing the direct route to the parlor, he approached the East Room and stepped over the yellow hazard tape draped across the threshold. Time stood still inside the wood-paneled room. The air hung heavy, traces of gunpowder now mixed with the lingering opium haze. While most of the furniture had been righted and pictures rehung the blood stain still drew the eye; the new, morbid focal point of the room. The stain, which had once been the bright red of his uncle’s blood, was now an amorphous brown shape. He turned away from it, focusing on his own reflection in the mirror – now back in its rightful place on the wall. Exhaustion painted his face, stress lined his brow. Behind him, the palace grounds rolled out of sight, scattered with ghosts of snowbanks that stubbornly refused to melt and trees dreaming of leaves. The sky was a sheet of solid grey, the rain noncommittal. Chris refocused on his face, noting his eyes reflected the skies’ unsettled color. He nodded. It was time to face the Council.

Four steps took him back to the hall and six more brought him to the parlor door, where he stepped inside. Several Council members rose to greet him.

“Good morning,” Chris said. “We have quite a bit of planning to do, so let’s get started.”

An hour into the informal meetings with the council members, Chris learned it wasn’t just the palace that had been mismanaged. Council members murmured their condolences, then launched into their more pressing personal concerns. As the tea tray was cleared and replaced with lunch, Chris discovered his uncle had made unethical alliances and promises; set unrealistic goals and expectations. Bribed and bullied to get his way. The throbbing in his head grew as much from the work he knew was in store as from anger at himself for letting things get this out-of-hand. As the grey light started dimming, Chris realized three fundamental truths: his negotiation skills were rusty, his knowledge of royal protocol was out-of-date, and he had stayed away too long.

The only bright spot of the day came mid-afternoon, when Jack entered and whispered that Rose wished to see him. At the breath of her name he was on his feet, mumbling excuses to the ever-growing number of council members who had slipped into the parlor.

She looked gorgeous. Jack had obviously taken her out on the grounds; her cheeks were flushed from the wind, her hair tousled. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw him and he thought he saw a flash of appreciation there. He pulled her into his arms -- thrilled that she let him, even if she was tense -- and breathed in the smell of Gallifreyan pine and hay. Senses that had been deadened by the monotonous talk over the past four hours sprung to life. She was his anchor right now, and he held on tight. He noted her stiff posture and closed his eyes against the pain of that. Entirely too soon, she pulled away from him. The fact that she wouldn’t let him hold her felt like a physical blow, but he deserved it. He let her go, but with great reluctance.

“You okay?” Rose asked, and he relaxed a little to know that she still cared.

“Just happy to see you. I’m sorry we haven’t had time to properly talk. It’s just…”

“I know. Jack explained.” She raised her hand and he braced himself for the little jolt he always felt when she touched him, but it never came. Her hand hung in the air, then dropped to her side. Chris wondered what was running through her mind. He felt miserable because he knew she wouldn’t tell him. Certainly not with Jack standing nearby, within earshot.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to see you. I was afraid you’d leave.”

“No. I’m not leaving - at least not until we talk.”

He nodded, grateful. “Thank you. I wish I could talk now but...I have to get back. I’m sorry.”

“You’re saying that a lot.”

“Only because it needs to be said.”

She nodded, looking away from him. “I’ll - I’ll see you later.”

Chris nodded and watched her walk out of the room. It took him a moment before he felt composed enough to join the Council again.

~*~O~*~

Three hours later, the last council member had left the _informal_ meetings to freshen up before the _formal_ meeting commenced. Chris had rushed up to his residence, clinging to a slim hope that Rose would be there, unsurprised to find the large suite empty. The dinner tray – set optimistically for two – sat by the window. He dropped the correspondence he needed to go through on the desk and sat down. Dinner could wait. There was something more pressing he needed to do in the few hours he had left before the next meeting. The mantel clock ticked as he wrote, erased, crossed out, and wrote some more.

Without lifting his pen, he called out ‘enter’ when he heard the tap on the door. 

“Highness?” Jack stepped inside. “Wilfred and I settled Rose into a guest suite. She requested an early evening. Thought you should know.” Chris rubbed his face and pushed away from his desk. Hearing that Rose was settled was comforting, knowing that she’d be spending the night in a different part of the palace was not. 

“Should I send Wilfred in to get you dressed?”

“Dressed?”

His Captain eyed him head to toe. “I assumed you’d want to wear your full dress uniform, sword and all. Show the Council who is in charge.”

“Since I am _not_ in charge, what I wear doesn't really matter. I mean to work with the Council, not intimidate them. Those days are over. But,” he held his hand up to squash Jack’s objection. “There _are_ going to be a few changes.”

The Captain’s lips curled up and his eyes glittered with the effort of holding back a smile. “Like, say, your bachelor status?” Chris raised his eyebrow in surprise, but Jack hurried on. “All I’m saying is that after spending the afternoon with Rose Tyler, I’ve come to the conclusion that if you don’t ask her to marry you, I will.”

“Try it, Harkness, and you will get a personal tour of the dungeons.” Chris shook his head in good-humor, tucked the hastily written pages in his jacket, and turned to head out the door.

“Chris.” When he looked back, Jack stood in the center of the room, his eyes soft. “She will make an excellent bride. You chose well.”

Chris shook his head. “I still have work to do on that front. But thank you.” 

They exited together, walking shoulder to shoulder down the stairs towards the Council room where all twelve of the advisors had finally arrived. Steps away, he slowed to a stop.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

Chris stared at the wood, memorizing the pattern of the oak without really seeing it. “Everything is going to change when I walk through that door, Jack. So many lives have suffered because of my uncle; because of a law that should have been modified years ago.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the pages written only an hour before. “Even England doesn’t follow a gender-designated succession plan anymore. I can’t help but think of the lives that would have been spared if I had drafted this years ago. ” Faces flashed: Jabe, Lynda, even his uncle. “Think of who would still be with us.”

He handed Jack the new Royal Succession to the Crown Act. The one that proposed future rulers of Gallifrey would follow birth order regardless of gender. If approved, it would eliminate the kind of pressure his mother had faced, wanting a family but needing a daughter. Something she had no ability to control, yet was measured against regardless. Pressure that ultimately led to his uncle’s deadly power struggle.

After reading the document, Jack nodded. “You’re right, Highness. This is a long time coming. But remember who _wouldn’t_ be here right now if you had done this years ago. I think that is more important.” With a wink, he gave the draft back and Chris returned it to his pocket. Jack grasped the door handle. “Get in there then, Highness. Your future awaits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy [this teaser for our next project](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8952223) as a gift from us.
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from Leather Fetish!


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29  
_April 17, 2016_

Chris paced the room, wringing his hands behind his back, occasionally bringing them up to drag down his face. After he discovered Rose wouldn’t be staying with him last night, he’d had a note taken to her inviting her to breakfast in his room. In a rush, he hadn’t specified a time, however, and he had been up and waiting since six -- despite knowing all too well Rose’s reluctance to get out of bed every morning. 

When the clock read seven forty-five, he collapsed into a chair. At this rate, he might be waiting until noon. 

A knock dragged Chris out of the chair and grumbling to the door. He was utterly sick of being Prince Regent at the moment, sick of making decisions, and sick of being in charge. Normally it wasn’t so much of a bother, but since things with Rose remained unresolved he couldn’t concentrate on anything but her.

He fairly stomped to the door and swung it open, ready to snap at whomever was on the other side, but softened immediately when he saw it was Rose. She stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her, looking down. Her posture was stiff, anxious, and he ached when he saw her that way in front of him.

“Rose…”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course. You shouldn’t have even knocked.”

“S’not my home.”

Chris winced a little. _Given half the chance, I’ll damned sure make it your home._

“Come in, Rose. And in the future, you don’t need to knock.”

She nodded, then came through the door as he stepped back to let her in. Once she was inside he shut the door gently and resisted the urge to lock it, not wanting to scare her or make her feel like she had no escape.

Rose was standing in the center of the lounge area, looking around. She clasped her hands in front of her again. “This is still hard to believe,” she said, sounding awestruck, then gave a nervous laugh. “I’m in a castle. In my bloke’s castle.”

Hope swelled within him. She’d given him tender looks, but none of those did much to allay his fears that she would leave. He needed to hear it. 

“I’m still your bloke, then?”

She turned to look at him, and he couldn’t read the expression on her face. 

“We need to talk.”

“You’re right, we do.” He gestured towards the window where a table was set for two. “Breakfast is here, if you want to eat.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m starving.”

He gave her a bright smile, the smile she’d told him multiple times that she loved. Maybe, just maybe, it would go a little ways in earning her forgiveness, in reminding her that she loved him. 

_Please, please let her still love me._

“It’s right over here.” Chris held out his arm and Rose followed the direction he was indicating. He put his hand on the small of her back as she passed, and she didn’t flinch away. He took it as a good sign.

She picked up the rose that lay beside her plate and brought it to her nose, smiling a little against the petals. Chris pulled out her chair and she sat, placing the napkin in her lap. He shuffled around to the other side of the table and followed suit before lifting the dome over their food.

“Everything look alright?” he asked, anxious.

Rose didn’t answer, just nodded and looked back down at her plate, hesitating with her hand over the silverware, deciding which to use. He chastised himself. He was trying to make her as comfortable as possible, but he knew there was no way she could be when she felt like this was a formal meal.

“Use whatever you like, Rose. There’s no protocol to follow, no one here to impress. It’s just Chris and Rose.”

She shot him a quick, uncertain glance, then picked up the fork farthest away from the plate. It wasn’t the correct one, but he didn’t care and he’d have taken a beating before he pointed it out. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes with Rose staring intently down at her plate, not looking at him. He wanted her to look at him, to speak to him, to let him know that everything would eventually be alright - but she didn’t. After a while, his curiosity made him speak.

He said, “I heard you went to the stables with Jack yesterday,” at the exact same moment Rose said, “So, how is planning going?”

They met each other’s gaze and both chuckled a little uncomfortably. 

“You first,” Chris told her. 

Rose grinned a little. “Which should I do first? Answer or ask?”

“Oi, cheeky,” he grinned at her, and her tongue made a brief appearance at the corner of her mouth. His heart stuttered a little… they were bantering and she was smiling. That could only be a good thing. Right?

“I was asking how the planning is going,” Rose asked, moving the eggs around on her plate before taking a bite. 

Chris had no desire to talk about it, but there was no way he was going to refuse to answer her question. So he shrugged instead. 

“It’s almost complete. There are standard, traditional procedures when burying a member of the Royal family, so planning isn’t so much of an issue. It’s the execution of said traditions and handling the explanation of...ah, the nature of my uncle’s death that’s a headache. Dealing with the Council took a good deal of time, as well. My uncle made a lot of false promises that had to be undone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, confused.

“That you’re having to go through all of this.” 

He shook his head. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, precious girl.” Then he caught her gaze. “At all.”

Chris did his best to convey as much meaning as possible through those two words, hoping she would understand. She gave him a curt nod and pursed lips, then went back to her meal. He sighed a little inwardly then went on.

“Jack took you around the grounds?”

“Kind of. He took me down to the stables. I’ve always loved horses.”

“You have?” 

Rose nodded. “Didn’t see many when I was growing up, and I always thought they were beautiful. I used to draw them all the time.” 

Chris waited a beat for her to go on, but she didn’t. “Did you guys do anything else fun?”

“Nah. Didn’t stay with him very long. Reinette asked me to take tea with her.”

He was taken aback. “Reinette?” Rose nodded again. “What did she want?”

“Mostly just chatting, getting to know each other a bit. She apologized again for all of…” Rose made a circle with her fork, “...this, and repeated a lot of what she said the other day on the estate.”

“Which was?” Rose gave him an assessing look, and he hurried to cover himself. “I’m not trying to pry, honestly. I’ve just wondered what happened...the two of you walked away and you were ready to chew nails, then you came back arm-in-arm. Made me curious.”

“She just talked about you, mostly,” Rose said without looking up at him. “Said that it was all your uncle’s idea that the two of you marry. That she’d gone along with it because he’d bullied her.”

Chris wondered what else was going on inside her head. He opened his mouth to apologize for everything, to address the elephant in the room, but she peered at him with concern he hadn’t expected to see. “Are you alright?” 

He answered automatically. “I’m always alright.”

Rose gave him a disbelieving look at his pat answer. “You’re not. It’s all over your face how upset you are. How could you possibly be okay right now, after everything that’s happened in the last two days?”

It was his turn to stab at his food. Rose was so perceptive, knew him so well. After considering his words for a little while, he dropped his fork, looked back up at her and reached across the table to take her hand. “Rose, I’m not upset about the things that have happened.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he backed down. “Well, I _am_ , but not as much as you might expect. The thought that I might lose you, that Saxon may have hurt you, was horrifying. I don’t have to worry about that now, and it’s a huge relief. Now my only worry is that you’re going to walk out the door, fly back to London and never speak to me again.” He paused, looking into her eyes. “But for this moment, right here and right now, I’m good. I’m with you. You’re safe and here and I’m alright.” Rose raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. “I’m _going to be_ alright. That better?” 

She nodded a little. “I suppose. But still, he was your family.”

“He was despicable.”

“I agree, but he was your blood.”

“He was all the blood I had left, but he was…not a good man. Makes me wonder about myself.”

“You’re not any of the things Saxon was,” she assured him. He just raised his eyes to her and she shook her head. “You’re not.”

“I lied to you.”

She retracted her hand. “Yes, you did.” Rose looked down at her plate again, then answered him slowly. “I love you. Or, rather, I love _Chris Foreman_. I don’t know who this is.” She pointed to him and the room around them. 

“You did. You _do_. This is part of me, but it’s not all of me. It doesn’t define who I am. Chris and Christoph are one and the same, and you’re the only one who knows the real me.” 

“You’re _Prince_ Christoph. You’re not some regular bloke.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

Rose shook her head in frustration. “I’m not even sure how to act with you right now. Do I call you ‘Your Highness’? Do I need to curtsey?”

His voice was quiet. “No, not you. Not ever. Please, Rose, don’t let the accident of my birth keep us apart.”

“Your birth isn’t keeping us apart. It’s the lying. I told you about my past, and you still lied to me.” Rose looked up at him, and the hurt in her eyes nearly undid him. “Why?”

“I was afraid you’d leave me. Everyone left in the end. Everything was so good, we... _we_ were so good, I didn’t think I could stand it if you left.” He sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I feel completely rubbish about all of this. I’m so sorry.” He saw her face soften a bit. 

“That’s what makes you different, Chris. You feel bad about what you did. You have a conscience.”

“And the guilt over what I did is eating me alive.” He thought for a moment, then spoke. “My parents were wonderful, Rose. You’d have loved them, and they’d have adored you. I hate that they’ll never get to meet you, and I can’t stand the thought that I was related to Saxon, to someone so awful. It doesn’t make sense to me that as wonderful as my mother was, her brother could be such a...such a…” He shook his head, frustrated. There’s no word bad enough for him. But I _was_ related to him, he _was_ my blood, and now I’m alone. There’s no one left, no family. My parents are dead, now my last remaining close relative is dead, too, and I’m alone.”

Rose reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You’re not alone,” she insisted. “There’s me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Even after what I did?”

“I told you I love you, Chris. That’s not something I take lightly. I don’t just throw those words around like confetti.”

“I know, but -”

She held up a hand. “No. There are no ‘buts’ here. I love you, and that’s that.”

Chris blinked, afraid to believe. “You’re going to stay with me?” he asked almost breathlessly. 

“I made up my mind a long time ago, and I’m never gonna leave you.” Her lip quirked a little. “Well, to be fair, I would _like_ to go back to London and finish my first, if that’s alright…”

Chris whooped with joy and fairly dove around the table, pulling her up and into his arms, holding her tightly. “Thank you. Thank you, Rose.”

“Just...just tell me you’re sorry. One more time.”

He leaned back far enough to look into her eyes. “I am. I’m sorry.”

Rose brought her hand up to his cheek and her caramel brown eyes penetrated his. “I forgive you.”

He cupped the back of her head and kissed her then, delighting in the way she kissed him back. It felt like it had been an eternity since she had. His lips slid over hers, separating and then meeting again, doing everything he could to pour his devotion into the kiss.

She pulled away after a moment, touching his forehead with hers. His heart broke to see the tears on her cheeks, and he reached up to wipe them away with his thumb. “Never lie to me again,” she whispered. “Please. Never again.”

“Never. I swear.”

She sat back a little and looked at him, her eyes shimmering. “Never keep a secret.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Be fair, Rose. How am I supposed to buy you Christmas or birthday presents if I can’t keep a secret?”

She giggled, even as two more tears splashed to her cheeks and carved silver streaks from her eyes downwards. Once again, he used his thumbs to wipe them away. 

“Well, I suppose _some_ secrets are alright…”

He grinned at her again, then leaned forward. She met his kiss with her own, her tongue seeking his, and the fiery passion between them that was never far from the surface roared to life. Within moments, she had her hands in his hair and his arms wrapped tighter around her, clutching her, holding her body close to his while she kissed him.

Chris broke the kiss, panting a little. 

“You’re a _prince _,” she murmured.__

__“Yes,” he answered, taking her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Is that alright?”_ _

__“Yeah,” she responded immediately. “I don’t care what you are, as long as you’re mine. My Prince Charming. My Chris.”_ _

__He kissed her fingers lightly. “I’m yours. For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”_ _

__She pulled her hand out of his and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. “I love you.”_ _

__“Oh, my precious girl. I love you, too.” He pecked at her lips again, keeping the contact light. “You haven't seen the best of my country thus far. Will you let me show you some of the beauty Gallifrey has to offer? The palace and grounds?”_ _

__Rose nodded. “Please.”_ _

_~*~O~*~_  


Rose descended the grand staircase with Chris, her hand in his, fingers laced together. She had a feeling that walking so casually may be against some rule of etiquette or propriety; he was the Prince, after all. She’d half expected him to offer her his elbow, and she’d have taken it if he had. That seemed the proper way to be escorted by a Prince, or so she assumed, and she didn’t want to do anything to embarrass him. But when Chris had held his hand out to her, wiggling his fingers in invitation, she’d been relieved - and powerless to resist him.

She was still struggling to wrap her mind around the fact that her bloke was the crowned Prince of Gallifrey. He was royalty, actual royalty, and the concept still floored her when she allowed herself to think on it. She was starting to accept it, though. Chris said that being royalty was just another part of him, and that she knew him better than anyone. She still didn’t feel like she knew _this_ part of him, but she supposed she’d learn. She wasn’t letting him go, not if she could help it.

They reached the bottom of the staircase, and Rose did a doubletake at the hall and what she could see of the rooms around her. She had spent most of yesterday either outside with Jack or around the periphery of the palace with Reinette. Since then, the furniture had been righted and put back in what she could only assume was their rightful place. All of the broken glass that had littered the floor was gone, and only the faintest smell of smoke remained under a floral scent. Really, the only evidence of what the palace had looked like when they arrived the night before were a few burn marks on some of the tables and the paintings that had been removed from the wall. 

She spotted the art stacked like dominoes against one of the walls. Releasing Chris’ hand, she went over to them, picking them up one by one and examining them. Her heart hurt to see beautiful art in such a state: canvases torn, burn marks and smoke stains disrupting the landscapes, smudged images that she knew beyond a doubt had once been stunning. 

Rose felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Chris standing there, his eyes twinkling down at her. He gestured towards the paintings. 

“I suspected you’d be having a closer look at those once you saw them. With your love of art, that has to be painful to see.” 

She nodded. “I’m so sorry, Chris.”

He shrugged. “They’re pretty decorations. The most important thing is the health and safety of the people I care about.”

“I just can’t stand to see art destroyed like this.”

“Maybe it’s not destroyed. Do you think they’d be able to be restored?”

Rose examined the painting in front of her, a seascape with a large ship. There was a smudge of something she assumed to be soot over the sails, and a clean tear in the lower right corner. The frame was broken, leaving the canvas loose.

“I think some of them, maybe, but not all.”

“Could you do it?”

Rose shook her head as she gently leaned the framed pictures against the wall and got to her feet. “You’d need an art expert for that.”

Chris’ eyes twinkled. “Good thing I know one.”

She shook her head a little ruefully. “I create, I don’t restore.”

“Do you know people who do?” he asked, and Rose nodded. “Would you be willing to oversee the restorations?”

She stared at him, stunned. Words sprung to her lips and died there before making a sound.

“Nevermind,” Chris smiled. “We can talk about that later. Right now, I’d like to show you something. Is that alright?”

Rose nodded again, and Chris reached for her hand, leading her down the hall. 

The palace was stunning. As they wandered through sitting rooms, parlors, and what seemed like miles of hallways, Rose realized she had only seen the tip of the iceberg yesterday. The palace had so much more. Much of it, luckily, Harold Saxon had never touched. 

Chris stopped in the ballroom, and Rose let go of his hand to spin around in a slow circle, taking the magnificent room in. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from a muraled ceiling, and the light caught from the two-story windows cast prisms on the floor. She looked down at them, and gasped at the floor. There were circles and lines arranged in a pattern that made no sense to her, but was incredibly beautiful.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the pattern.

“The royal seal of Gallifrey. Well, the ancient one, anyway. In more recent centuries, we followed the example of other royal houses and adopted a more modern, European seal. But the traditional language of Gallifrey, including its seal, is not forgotten.”

She looked straight up as Chris led her through the ballroom, taking in the exquisite mural on the ceiling. Everything around her was as if one of her art books had come to life -- vivid colors, stunning detail. She’d never seen anything like it - not with her own eyes. 

As they walked, Chris told her little anecdotes about growing up in the palace and how when he’d played hide and seek with the other children of nobility, he’d often hidden in the ballroom. He gave her a mischievous smile when he told her he’d rarely been found. Her childhood had been as different from his as night from day; she couldn’t imagine playing in a ballroom, just as he could never picture playing in abandoned, burned out cars. Same game, different venues.

The doors at the other end of the ballroom opened into another long, gilded corridor where Chris pointed out a painting or sculpture here or there, until they arrived at a nondescript door. He paused before opening it. 

“This is what I wanted to show you.” The blast of warm, humid air took her breath away. Two steps inside was a garden paradise filled with flowering bushes and plants, some unlike any Rose had seen before. She stopped to smell them every so often and Chris stood back, watching her indulgently. The air was heavy and pungent; Rose could smell life and soil, and it made her smile.

Towards the center they came to a clearing, surrounded on all sides by rosebushes. Bubble gum pink, pale yellow, deep lavender, and of course every shade of red imaginable. Rose hadn’t known there were this many varieties. She stepped into the middle of the clearing where a bubbling fountain gurgled. Everywhere she looked there was color. Chris stood at one end, watching her. 

“Chris, this is...this is gorgeous.”

“After my father died, my mother had them ripped out. She was...well, she was grieving. I had them replanted a few years ago, but I never knew why. Now I do.”

He stepped forward, walking towards her, stopping a little in front of her. “I think I knew that roses were special to me, somehow. I think I knew, on some level, that I was meant for a Rose.”

She looked over at him, her face blank except for wide, astonished eyes. Then she bowed her head a little.

“When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being swept away by a handsome prince. I think every little girl does. But when I got older and saw the realities of the estate, I finally realized that it was just a dream. The best I could hope for was maybe - just maybe - I’d find a boyfriend who wasn’t a complete arse. And after Jimmy...” Rose shrugged. “Well, I changed my dream. Instead of waiting for someone to rescue me, I dreamed of rescuing myself. Making something of myself. Dreamed of escaping the life I was born to.”

She took a step towards him and took his hand, the first time she’d initiated the contact in days. “Then it actually happened. I got out,” she said, looking down at their joined hands. 

“You did more than that, love,” Chris insisted. “You’ve worked so hard, Rose. And you have made something of yourself - although I’m sure you were always brilliant.”

“But I didn’t think I could have both, see. I’d stopped believing in the fantasy of the handsome prince.” She looked up at him. “Then you came along and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I’d found the right bloke who would fit into this new dream I had. But you weren’t my boyfriend. You were never just my boyfriend. You were better than that.”

His eyes softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And now…” She paused for a minute. “Now, I have it all. You’ve made my dream come true, Chris. _You’re_ a dream come true.”

He bent to kiss her, and she met him in the middle, slipping her arms around his neck.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30  
_April 18, 2016_

Chris had left to attend the funeral only fifteen minutes earlier after giving her a sweet kiss. It hurt her more than she wanted to think about that she wouldn’t be there for him while he went through this ordeal, but she didn’t think she could bear to sit in a room and hear people say nice things about the man who had tried to kill her. Besides that, Chris had suggested she stay behind, telling her that he preferred to keep her away from the last vestiges of the ugliness of his country. 

Rose hadn’t been surprised to find the bookshelves in Chris’ residence filled to the brim. She’d spent a lot of time on her own in the last two days, what with the palace in such an uproar, but that was alright. She was enjoying the quiet and the chance to gather her thoughts. It had allowed her to reflect on things that she wouldn’t have been able to otherwise. She’d been given a chance to cool down and think, and she appreciated that.

But she _was_ starting to get a bit bored, and to think longingly of home. Especially her art supplies and textbooks. 

She plucked a book off of the shelf - _A History of Gallifreyan Art and Culture_ \- and made her way to the chair by the fire to curl up and read it, interested to learn more about Chris’ country. 

A knock came at the door just as she was finishing chapter one and she carefully marked her place before she stood to answer it, wondering who it was. She felt like a bit of an imposter, answering the door to Chris’ residence - in his _palace_ \- but she couldn’t let the person on the other side of the door just stand there. Whoever it was had likely been sent by Chris to check on her, and with everything else going on in his life right now, she wasn’t about to worry him unnecessarily. 

Rose pulled the door open to find Wilfred standing there; a soft smile crossed his face before he sank into a bow.

“No, no, don’t do that. I’m nobody special,” she told him, putting her hand on his shoulder and encouraging him to stand.

“On the contrary, Miss, you’re incredibly special.” When she opened her mouth to argue, Wilf cut her off. “Was wondering if you’d like to join me for a cup of tea in my flat?”

“Chris sent you to take care of me, didn’t he?” she asked with a wry smile.

He didn’t deny it. “As the Prince’s valet, I am responsible for taking care of all that he holds dear.” Rose’s smile widened. Wilfred was a bit of a charmer. “I imagine you’ve seen enough of these four walls over the past couple of days to last you awhile.”

Rose nodded. “I’d love to join you, Wilf.”

The old man looked chuffed, then offered Rose his arm. Smiling, she put her hand into the crook of his elbow and closed the door behind her as he led her away. 

Wilf chattered on the way down to his flat, telling her little anecdotes about which dignitaries had stayed in the rooms they were passing, or how the library boasted the largest collection of books in the country. He spoke of Chris multiple times, and the pride in his voice was unmistakeable. 

“Here we are,” he said once they reached a plain door after descending a couple flights of stairs. He opened the door and bowed with one arm extended into the flat. Rose thought briefly of protesting the bow, but thought better of it at the last moment and entered the flat as bidden.

Wilf’s flat looked to be the same size of her mum’s on the estate. It was cozy and warm, and Rose felt instantly at home. 

“Have a seat by the fire, Miss, and I’ll put the kettle on for us. How do you take your tea?”

“Two sugars, no milk.”

Wilf smiled. “Just like His Highness. Coming right up. You have have a seat right there, and I’ll be right back.”

Rose nodded and did as instructed, sinking into the large rocking chair that sat beside the fire. 

Wilf returned a couple of minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea. “Here you are, Miss.” Rose took the offered mug, careful not to spill, and let herself have a sip.

“This is delicious, Wilf. You make fantastic tea.”

“I’ve always thought so,” he said, sinking into the chair across from hers with a smile. Rose’s own lips quirked at his tone, and she realized that she was more comfortable now, in this room with this man she barely knew, than she’d been ever since she’d stepped onto Gallifreyan soil. 

“I’d like to apologize again, Miss, that you had to see everything that you’ve seen.”

“It’s fine, Wilf.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s really not. This is not the real Gallifrey. You’ve seen it at its ugliest before ever getting a chance to see its usual splendor. That’s unacceptable.”

“Is it like that a lot?” 

“No. Gallifrey is a peaceful country run by people who love it. Oakdown and his shenanigans were an anomaly.”

“Oakdown?”

“The Duke of Oakdown, Harold Saxon.” Rose nodded, and Wilf went on. “The Royal Family has never been anything but respectable.”

Rose nodded, accepting that, and took another sip of tea. When she lowered her mug, he was looking at her speculatively. 

“He really loves you, you know.”

She sighed. “I know. And we’re okay now. But all of this,” she waved her hand in a vague gesture, indicating the palace, “is a bit overwhelming.”

“I’m sure it is. Especially when you didn’t know any of this even existed, really. But I’ve served the Royal Family for nigh on fifty years, since his Highness’ father married his mother. I’ve known him all his life. He’s a good man, Miss.” He gave a faraway little grin. “Was a good boy, too.”

“Tell me about him. What was he like growing up?” Rose asked around a sip of tea.

“Oh, he was a mischievous little rascal,” Wilf smiled, seeming to be lost in reminiscing. “Always into something, that one. Nearly drove his mum spare, God rest her soul.”

Rose couldn’t help but smile. “What did he do?”

“Well, he was a climber, for one thing. Just like a little ape, he was. I can’t tell you how many times I found him standing on top of something where he had no business being.” Wilf chuckled. “I think my favorite was the time he climbed the shelves in the library. Found him perched on the upper shelf, legs dangling while he read.” Rose grinned at the idea of her Chris as a boy. “When I asked him why he didn’t use the ladder, you know what he said? _‘Where’s the fun in that!’_ Her Majesty nearly had a heart attack when I told her.”

Rose grinned. “So he was a holy terror?”

“Oh, no, Miss. He was a good boy, and always tried to do good. Just the adventurous sort, is all.”

“He mentioned that his father died when he was young,” Rose said slowly, afraid that she was prying.

“Yes. His Highness was eight when his father died. I’ve never seen such a heartbroken little boy. Tore me apart to see him that way. His father took such great pride in him - both of his parents did.”

Rose didn’t speak, just swirled her tea in her mug a little. Wilf went on.

“Their Majesties loved him to distraction. It didn’t matter to either of them that he wasn’t a girl.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Why would that matter?”

Wilf looked surprised and a little uncomfortable. “The line of succession follows the female in Gallifrey. Our country is ruled by a woman. S’why His Highness isn’t King, he’s Prince Regent.”

Thoughts swirled around in Rose’s head. It had never occurred to her that if she married him, she’d be expected to provide an heir. And a girl! What on earth would she do if she only had boys?

 _Calm down, Tyler,_ she admonished herself. _You haven’t even said you’ll marry him, yet._

“I’m terribly pleased that his Highness found you,” Wilf was saying. “Loves you dearly, he does. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Rose shook her head, banishing the premature thoughts of babies and family. “I’m sure he’s been in love before.”

“He has,” Wilf agreed, “and I was there for those, too. But there’s something about you, Miss. Something different. He’s at peace when he talks about you.”

She took another sip of her tea. She’d felt anything but peaceful since Harold Saxon had stopped her on the quad. Her thoughts had been a whirlwind, and she’d felt every possible emotion. 

But she’d finally found some measure of peace when they’d cleared the air between them. She still had a lot to think about, but she could do it better by his side than anywhere else. 

Rose smiled at Wilf, thinking maybe Chris had known just what he was doing when he sent the old man to check on her.

~*~O~*~

She returned to Chris’ residence and stopped short just inside the door when she heard an unexpected noise from the bedroom. It was too early for Chris to be back from the funeral, so it was probably a maid, but how was she supposed to act?

Familiar grumbling set her mind at ease before she could get too worked up, and she walked into the bedroom in time to see Chris, his back to her, pull a jumper over his head. He still wore the bright red uniform trousers, and as soon as the jumper was on, his hands dropped to his waist.

“Let me.”

When he turned, the naked pain in his eyes immediately put lie to him being anywhere close to “alright.” He hid it well enough most of the time, but in that moment it was too raw.

“You’re back early.” Rose tried for casual as she stepped forward and reached for the fastenings on his trousers. 

He cupped her cheek, but didn’t try to stop what she was doing. “Turns out there wasn’t much people wanted to say about my Uncle.”

There was nothing to say to that which hadn’t already been said, so Rose continued her task, lowering the trousers down Chris’ legs and helping him step out of them. It wasn’t sexual, just a need to show him that someone cared and that he didn’t have to do everything himself. When he grabbed his jeans off of the bed, she folded the trousers, running on autopilot from her Henrick’s days, and laid them next to the matching jacket.

“Have you eaten?” he murmured. 

She shook her head. “Haven’t been hungry. Wilf was kind enough to offer me a cuppa. That’s enough for now.”

“Walk with me?” he asked, extending his hand. “There’s still someone you haven’t met.”

He took her down the hallway, past a few closed doors, until he reached one she hadn’t been in yet. As soon as he pushed the door open, she recognized the long room for what it was, and at a nod from him, she stepped inside. On either side of her, portraits lined the walls, the nearest ones centuries old but meticulously cared for. 

She knew Chris could probably tell her the exact history of each painting and the royal families depicted in them, but he walked a few paces behind her, silently observing her as she examined each one. Stern-faced, bejeweled Queens and their equally stoic families stared back at her. 

It wasn’t until she got to the more modern paintings that the subjects began to smile. In the last one, there was such happiness radiating from the family that it brought her joy just to look at it. And that was before she recognized Chris’ features in the little boy. 

The Queen in the portrait was hardly recognizable as the same woman from the picture Harold Saxon had shown her. Younger, yes, but also lighter, less burdened by the world and the weight of her responsibilities. It could have been at least in part because of the man standing beside her, the hand he rested on her shoulder clearly a caress, his eyes practically glowing with delight. Beside his parents, Chris was either seven or eight, tall and lanky in a tiny suit.

Chris’ strong arms enveloped her from behind and she sank into him. As they stood that way, neither of them breaking the silence, another detail about the painting began to jump out at her.

The Queen was obviously pregnant beneath the ornate gown she wore, probably at least five or six months along, but Chris had never mentioned a sibling.

Her gasp was barely audible, but Chris shifted behind her and rested his cheek against her hair, his voice soft in her ear, “The painter hadn’t even finished it when my father died. Only the details were left, thank goodness, or it wouldn’t be here.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “My mother took ill not long after. My sister…”

Rose turned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him down to her, not needing to hear any more of the increasingly broken words to understand what had happened. 

For a long moment he allowed himself to be held, each breath slow and deliberate. Then he kissed her cheek and squeezed her once before straightening. Rose chased his lips with her own, drawing him into a sweet kiss.

“I love you.”

Instead of answering, Chris looked up at the portrait again. “There was an uproar when they started seeing each other. My father didn't have an ounce of royal blood in him,” his arm tightened around her, “but my mother wouldn't listen. She loved him and knew he was the one for her. I guess I'm more like her than I thought.”

He looked down at her. “They would have loved you.”

Rose rested her head on his chest. “And I’m sure I would have loved them.”

“I also think she would have wanted you to have this.” He brought his hand up so that she could see it. Resting on his palm was a ring. The large, oval-cut diamond sat in a rectangular filigree setting. Smaller diamonds surrounded the center stone, and when Chris shifted his hand, Rose noticed the band, too, was encrusted with small, round, glittering gems. 

“Chris --”

He picked up the ring with his other hand and held it between them. “I meant what I said at your mum’s. I want to marry you. I know after everything that’s happened you may not be ready to give me your answer, but I need you to know that the offer is sincere.”

Rose closed her hand around his, leaving the ring exposed, but before she could speak, his face fell. 

“I know marrying me would take you away from everything you know and throw you into a strange land, surrounded by people, customs, and a culture you don’t know --” 

“Not to mention obligating me to provide the Prince Regent with a daughter.”

She’d never seen anyone both pale and blush at the same time before. It was precious. Any second now he was going to start stammering. A tiny, devilish part of her wanted to see that happen.

“I’d hoped to have that resolved before it came up,” he finally managed. At Rose’s raised eyebrow, he continued. “I spoke to the Advisory Council about changing the law to allow the firstborn to inherit regardless of gender. They’re open to the idea, but it will still take time to formally write up the changes and present it to Parliament.”

“I never wanted kids when I was younger. I used to think they were right little terrors.”

“Oh.” She watched him swallow hard. “And now?”

“Haven’t had much time to think about it, have I? Finishing my degree was the priority, and it’s not like I knew I was dating someone who needed an _heir_.” Chris had the grace to look sheepish. “And it seems Wilf has a few stories to tell about a certain Prince’s childhood that don’t exactly take ‘right terror’ off the table.”

It was only when he nodded once, decisively, that Rose realized he’d missed the subtle teasing tones in her voice. Not a big surprise, now that she thought about it. “Hey, don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m not saying no.”

“I understand that you’ll need time. There’s no timeline or pressure. Just maybe a wish on my part: I would love for us to someday have a family together. And that has nothing to do with ‘heirs’.” Chris fidgeted nervously. “Doesn’t change anything if you decide not to. Reinette will inherit, but with everything I’ve seen of her these last few days that doesn’t bother me as much as it once would have...”

His voice trailed off. Chris was a very smart man, and he’d finally put together what she wasn’t saying with what she was. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

“I wanted to say yes the first time you asked, I did. I didn’t want anything more than that. But I was just so…”

He stopped her mouth with a kiss, a chaste press of lips that evolved into something more smoldering after just a moment. Chris brought his hand up to thread his fingers through her hair and hold her close while he did his best to show her how much he loved her without words, only soft caresses and the play of lips against one another.

When he finally pulled back, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. 

“Thank you.”

She smiled, a little bemused. “For what?”

“For loving me. For forgiving me. For...for everything. Thank you so much, Rose.”

Rose tilted her head and kissed his nose, smiling. “I love you. Of course you’re welcome.”

He smiled down at her, then spoke. “There’s one more thing I need to tell you. Not bad!” he protested, rushing to soothe her when she went stiff against him. “It’s not a secret. It just hasn’t been relevant until now.”

Rose eyed him warily. “Go on…”

“By Gallifreyan law, I have to marry before my fortieth birthday next February. Otherwise the council gets to choose my bride for me. Not that they would choose anyone else once I name you as my intended, but still --”

She put a finger to his lips. “I’d marry you tomorrow, love.”

He kissed the tip of her finger and brought it back down into his hands. “That’s another thing. I don’t know what kind of wedding you always wanted, but this is going to be a big to-do. Dignitaries and ambassadors will fly in, there will be at least one ball, probably more… A member of the royal family hasn’t married in over fifty years - when my mother and father were married. It’s going to be quite the event. We can’t just run away to the courthouse and do it quietly. I’m sorry.”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You’re apologizing for giving me a fairytale wedding?”

Chris grinned crookedly. “Well, yeah…”

“You daft thing. Almost every little girl dreams of being a princess on their wedding day.”

He smiled at her softly. “You will actually become a princess on yours.”

Rose’s head spun. “That’s hard to believe. Me, a girl from the council estates, becoming a princess.”

“It’ll be reality for you. Princess Consort, anytime you’re ready.”

“Let’s do it this winter. Would that be enough time to finish your thesis?”

He grinned at her. “That sounds perfect.”

“Good.” Rose snuggled into him. “We can have a Christmas wedding.”

“Whatever you want, love.” He kissed her temple. “You have forgotten one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

He held up the ring where she could see it again. “I know it’s old-fashioned, so if you don’t like it we can have the setting changed or --”

“Don’t you dare. It was your mum’s, yeah?” She offered him her hand and he held it as steady as he could in one trembling hand while sliding the ring onto her finger with the other.

His thumb rubbed against the cool metal. “Yeah. It was my mother’s.”

“It’s gorgeous. Really,” she added off of his searching look, “I love it.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard as it is to believe, this is the end of our tale. 
> 
> What started out as a fun little chat among four writers with a shared appreciation for Nine morphed into over 100,000 words and thirty-one chapters. They say it takes a village to raise a child; H&G took four women with very different life experiences and approaches to writing to birth and raise. Over five months there were late nights, early mornings, debates over wording, worrying over plot holes, and _lots_ of laughs. A lot has happened in those five months, to us and to the world, but we’re honored that our writing experiment has provided enjoyment to so many of you. Your comments and enthusiasm for the story kept us giggling, snorting, and rubbing our hands in delight at how we could torture/reward you each week. The writing process was a thrill ride; your feedback made it epic, so thank you from all of us. 
> 
> ...Oh, did we say this is the end?  
>  *muffled giggles from Leather Fetish*

Chapter 31  
April 20, 2016

The sunrise flooded the jet with light and Chris sighed, letting it envelop him. He turned his head to press a kiss to Rose’s hair as she slept, thankful he was allowed to do so - especially after all she had witnessed. 

He had always felt that the accident of his birth was just that - an accident. A darkness seemed to follow him, especially after his father died. A despondency that made him question his worthiness: to the title he was born to, to the riches and privileges afforded him, or the bounty that his life offered. He certainly didn’t feel worthy of the woman dozing on his shoulder.

He wasn’t going to question his fortune anymore, though. Jack was right, if things hadn’t played out the way they had, he may have never met Rose Tyler. _His fiancée_. He shifted his thigh and the ring on her finger glinted. Sparkling proof that it hadn’t been a dream.

Chris wasn’t a religious man but he sent up a thankful prayer anyway, just before he vowed to her silently that he’d do anything and everything in his power to make Gallifrey a comfortable home for her. 

The pilot came into the cabin from the cockpit, and Chris looked at him expectantly. 

“We’re crossing into British airspace, Highness, and we should be landing within the next hour. There will be a car waiting at the airport.”

“Very good. Thank you, Mattias.”

“Thank you, Highness.”

Mattias turned to go back to the cockpit, and Rose stirred against him. 

“Gonna take a while to get used to that ‘Highness’ thing.”

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was right here the whole time,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes a little. 

Chris chuckled. “I know you were here, but you were asleep, too.”

“Was not,” she retorted, just before she let out a huge yawn. 

He grinned and took her hand. “We’ll be landing in about an hour.”

“I heard. And there’ll be a car?”

“Yes.”

“You have a driver?”

“No, it’s just rented cars in London. But yes, in Gallifrey we’ll have a driver.”

“Gonna take a while to get used to that, too.”

He kissed her forehead. “I know it will, and I’m sorry. I know you’ll probably be wrong-footed for a bit.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “But there are worse things to be wrong-footed about.” Rose considered him for a minute. “Life is about to change pretty drastically, huh?”

“Not right away,” he told her. “Everything will be just the same in London. Except, you know…”

She looked at him quizzically. “What?”

“Except this.” He cradled her hand in his and ran a thumb over the ring there. “There’s this.”

“Yes, there is,” she smiled. 

He paused for a second, then laced their fingers together, feeling her ring against his own ring finger. 

“How do you think your mum is going to take it? Still think we should have called her to let her know.”

Rose smiled. “Nah, I want to do it in person. And, don’t worry, she’s going to be over the moon.”

“You sure?” he asked with a skeptical look. “She threatened to slap me, you know.”

She giggled a little, then ran her thumb along the back of his. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect my Prince.”

The ‘fasten seatbelt’ light came on, and he resettled Rose in the crook of his shoulder as the plane started descending. As they banked left, the neighborhoods of London became recognizable out the window. The Thames sparkled as the morning sun hit it, a silver ribbon bisecting the city.

~*~O~*~

More focused on the movement of their hands than that of their feet, they tumbled into Chris’ flat - which had, for all intents and purposes, become _their_ flat in the week since they’d returned from Gallifrey.

Rose kissed him again and he pulled her close, as close as he could, her body pressed flush to his. The kiss ratcheted up in intensity until tongues were stroking each other and hands were roaming. He finally tore his lips away from hers, trailing kisses across the line of her jaw, down her neck. 

“Make love to me, Chris.”

His heart swelled with an emotion much more primal than lust, and he nodded. “As you wish, love.”

He walked her backwards towards their bedroom and their bed until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. He lifted her then, laying her down before he crawled over her as she slid back towards the pillows. He chased her mouth the whole way, smiling a little at her coy, tongue-touched grin when she scooted just out out of reach each time he dipped his head. Finally, she had nowhere to go and he caught her, still on his hands and knees over her. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and he felt her fingers toying with the hairs at the back of his neck, goosebumps erupting all over him from the tender touch. She pulled him down until he lay on top of her, his hardness pressing into her when he rutted gently. 

“Say it again,” he requested, nibbling at her neck. 

“Which part?” she breathed. 

“The bit about my bed in Gallifrey,” he panted, pressing his open mouth to hers and doing his best to seduce her with his kiss, trailing his hand lightly up her thigh, coming to rest on her hip, gripping her.

“When we get back to Gallifrey,” she started, tracing the shell of his ear with her fingertip, “I’m going to drag you to your chambers -”

“ _Our_ chambers,” he corrected her, then nipped at her bottom lip.

“Our chambers,” she acquiesced. 

“And what are you going to do when you get there, Rose?”

She gave him a filthy grin, then pulled his head down to hers. Her lips landed right next to his ear and she whispered to him - filthy fantasies and erotic daydreams. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head and his hands tightening on her.

He rolled her under him and traced the seam of her jeans until he got to the apex of her thighs, dragging his finger along her slit through the denim. 

“I love you, Rose. Let me show you.”

She answered with a nod and he caught her mouth again, pouring everything he felt for her, his love and adoration, into the play of his lips against hers. Slowly, so slowly, he slid his hand up to the button of her jeans and popped it open, tugging the zip down as he went, his mouth never releasing hers. 

Chris was unable to resist the pull of her opened jeans, and he slipped his hand inside, sliding his fingers against the cotton for a minute before he pulled the knickers aside to stroke her, breaking the kiss and groaning a little when he felt how wet she was. He dipped his finger just inside, seeking her clit, and her little hum of pleasure around her bitten lip was the best type of reward. He swirled the tip of his finger around her, loving the little whimpering moans and the way she ground her hips up into his hand. He nibbled at her neck, her collarbone, soothing the places his teeth touched with his tongue. 

“Chris?”

“Yes, love?” he murmured against the swell of her still-clothed breast. 

“I want you. Please.”

He raised his eyes to look at her, and the desire in her eyes nearly burned him. He whispered a prayer of thanks that this amazing creature, this beautiful woman, loved him - that she was going to be his _wife_. 

“How do you want me, sweetheart? Whatever you want, it’s yours. All of me.”

“I want you inside me, making love to me, loving me from the inside.”

Well, there was no way in hell Chris would say no to _that_.

He raised up on his knees and pulled his jumper off at once, unable to help the little moan when Rose sat up immediately and did the same before she put her hands on his waist, kissing his chest, laving it with her tongue. She started working on the buckle of his belt, and he ran his hands up and down the smooth skin of her arms before it occurred to him that he wanted her as naked as he was about to be. He interrupted her work on his belt just as she managed to get it open, and pushed gently on her shoulder, laying her back. He tugged her jeans and knickers down and away, trailing soft, open-mouth kisses up the inside of her thigh as he went until he got to the junction. She was wet for him, glistening, and he ran his tongue along her to capture the taste. 

Rose hissed in a breath, arching her back and putting her hands on his head, gripping him. He smiled at her reaction and licked her again, this time eliciting a moan of pleasure. Wanting more of her taste and unwilling to delay another moment, he parted her lips and pressed his mouth to her, swirling his tongue around her entrance.

“Chris,” she breathed, rolling her hips against him. He brought his hand up to press against her hips, holding her stationary. Rose opened her legs wider, and he grinned against her, his tongue darting out from between his teeth to circle her clit. Rose panted above him, and he slid one finger in and out of her, then two. She keened, and he pulled his mouth back a little bit. 

“Like that, do you?”

“Shut up,” she said through shuddering breaths. “You know you’re brilliant at that.”

It was with a great deal of smugness that he returned to the feast before him - and like a man starved for the taste of his beloved, he licked, sucked and nipped at her, reveling in the sounds she made above him. 

“Chris…” she whimpered. 

He removed his mouth to answer her, but kept up the steady rhythm of his fingers. “What is it, love?”

“I need you.”

“You have me, precious girl.” He bent back to his work, and she gasped when he took the little nub into his mouth and sucked. 

“Not that,” she groaned. “I _need_ you.”

He ran his tongue in a teasing circle around her clit. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you.”

“Like this?” he asked, curling motion with his fingers as he thrust them in and out a little more quickly.

She babbled incoherently for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Want you. Want your cock.”

“I told you, love,” he said, curling his fingers and circling her clit one last time. “Anything you want. It’s all yours.”

He crawled up her body, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Rose reached for him, inviting his body down on top of hers. She groaned when she felt his cloth-clad erection pressing right where she needed it, right where he wanted to be.

“You’re still too dressed,” she whined.

He kissed her, deeply and sweetly, and Rose clutched at him, pulling him as close as she could get him. After a moment, when both of them were halfway to hypoxia, Chris pulled back and got to his knees, sliding off the bed so that he could get rid of the offending garments.

Rose sat up abruptly, surprising him, and got to work opening the button of his trousers and tugging down the zip, then slipping her fingers into the waistband of the trousers and pants, pulling them down to his knees, letting his cock spring free to bob in front of her face. Before he could speak, before he could even think, she’d bent over and opened her mouth, wrapping her lips around him and swirling her tongue around the tip, taking him as deep as she could. He clutched her hair, throwing his own head back with a groan, doing his best not to thrust, even as she sucked and he felt himself hitting the back of her throat. He panted, his breathing ragged, and it only seemed to egg Rose on. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks around him, and he fisted her hair, desperately clinging to her and to his control at the same time. 

“Rose,” he said, “Rose, you have to stop… _fuck_ that feels good...you’re making me mental…”

She either didn’t hear him or ignored him and reached up to cup his balls, fondling them, rolling them around in her fingers. He whimpered a little when she hummed around him. What she was doing was fantastic - _brilliant_ \- but he needed to be inside of her. _Now_.

Gently, so gently, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her away from his aching cock, shining with moisture, pre-ejaculate beading at the tip. He followed her down and kissed her brilliant mouth, plundering it with his tongue, his kiss nearly feral. Rose brought her leg up and pushed at his trousers and pants with her foot, and he raised off of her so that she could help him get them off. Rose took advantage of his body hovering above hers, reaching behind herself to release her bra and pulling it down her arms in two quick motions while he toed off his boots and kicked his remaining clothing off of his legs. When he was free and they were both gloriously nude, he lay himself down on top of her again, bringing one hand up to palm her breast. He dipped his head to taste it, her nipple going taut and peaking, and he sucked it into his mouth. As she had with his cock, he swirled his tongue around it and she brought her hands to his head, holding him close to her, not letting him go. 

“Please,” she said on a breath, and he didn’t have to ask what she wanted. Her hips were rolling beneath him, sliding her wet heat over his erection, grinding the tip of him against her clit. He released her breast with an audible pop, and she reached around him, dragging her short nails down his back while he trailed kisses upwards to her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. The sensation was heady, and he nipped the skin of her neck in retaliation, hoping like hell it felt as good to her as it did to him.

“Are you ready?” he murmured against the underside of her jaw. Rose nodded, and he buried his face into her shoulder as he slowly sank into her. He had to stop for a moment to regain his control; nothing - _nothing_ felt as good as being surrounded by her. 

“ _Fuck_ , Rose.”

She didn’t answer, didn’t seem able, and he empathized. His thoughts were a jumble, but not like before. His mind was full of myriad sensations: heat and need and _Rose_ , all wrapped in the overwhelming feelings of peace and love for this amazing woman below him. 

Slowly, so slowly, he pulled out until only the tip was left inside her, then slid back in. Rose clawed at his back, and he did it again, a bit faster this time. Then again and again, picking up speed until he was thrusting into her, letting his need for her drive him. She mewled with every plunge of his cock, and he lowered his mouth to hers to capture the sound. Without thinking, he brought his hand up to his own shoulder, taking her by the wrist and threading his fingers through hers, pressing it back into the pillow under her head, feeling her engagement ring dig into his fingers, seeking even more connection with her as his body did its dance of conquest and retreat. 

Rose met him thrust for thrust, tilting her hips up so that he could go deeper, and oh that was _fantastic_. She wrapped her legs around his waist and his need increased. He started driving into her, one hand clutching hers and the one that wasn’t otherwise occupied cupping her shoulder, improving his leverage. 

She made little impact noises, tiny grunts, every time his hips slammed into hers, and he felt her beginning to quiver around him. 

“I love you, Rose,” he panted, “I love you. Come for me, precious girl.”

She threw her head back and shouted her release, her already tight channel clenching down on his cock, and he pounded into her with a wild, uncontrolled barrage, doing his best to relieve the coiling tension at the base of his spine until he exploded with a cry of her name, babbling incoherently in Gallifreyan about his love for her, how wonderful she was, and pleading with her in his native tongue to never, ever leave him. 

He collapsed to the side, careful to keep his full weight off of her, and Rose whimpered when he slid out of her. He panted for breath for a minute, his heart pounding in his chest while he came back to earth. 

Rose turned towards him and put her hand on his chest. He knew she could feel the beat of his heart beneath her hand. He wiggled a bit, getting comfortable next to her.

“It beats only for you, you know.”

She raised up on one elbow and gave him a lopsided grin. “Now, Dr. Foreman, I happen to know that’s not true. My Anat and Phys lecturer told me that the heart’s sole function is to supply the body with blood.”

“That’s other people’s hearts,” he replied easily, settling into his place beside her and pulling her into his arms, where she belonged. “My heart...it’s all yours, Rose. Every beat of it.”

~*~O~*~

Rose was sitting on the couch, having pulled on one of Chris’ jumpers when the clock beside the bed had informed them that it was almost time for the Doctor to be on the air. Though Donna had well and truly learned her lesson the last time she’d barged into their flat without knocking, Chris had tugged on his jeans as well.

She listened to him with half an ear as he spoke into the microphone at his laptop about the upcoming vote in the UK and whether or not the country should leave the EU. Most of her attention, however, was on the Art History book open across her lap and the notes spread around her. Finals were coming up, and this was the only class with an actual exam - the rest of her final grades would come from various art projects that were due at the end of term. But this exam was the last hurdle to her first and although she felt good about it - she knew the material well and her mark so far was near perfect - she still wanted to perform well on the exam. 

“Well folks,” Chris said from across the room. “I’ve a bit of an announcement to make. At the end of this term, I will no longer be coming to you through the radio waves. I’ve enjoyed my time here, with you, but it’s time to move on. There are bigger and brighter things ahead.”

He looked over to her, and Rose beamed at him. 

“Many people have speculated on the identity of Her, whom I’ve been dedicating songs to for the past ten months. While I won’t be spilling her identity on air, I will tell you this: my very first dedication to her came on the day that I met her. And this particular dedication, tonight, holds special meaning.” He turned to look at her again, and Rose flushed. “You see, just last week, I asked Her to marry me, and it is with more pleasure than I can express that I can tell you she accepted. So this song is for Her, my future wife. I love you.”

“I love you,” she mouthed while he killed the mic and a delicate melody began playing on the guitar. 

Chris got out of his seat and walked over to where Rose had gotten to her feet. 

“You just told me you loved me in front of the greater London area.”

“I’m going to tell you I love you in front of the world in December, precious girl.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghZt2cILcCU) is the song the Doctor plays for Her.
> 
> We received another fabulous fanart! Thank you to [Rose--Nebula!!](http://rose--nebula.deviantart.com/art/Heirs-And-Graces-by-Rose-Nebula-670787828)  
> 


	32. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final look at the Foremans' happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't help but take one last peek at these characters. Thank you for permitting this indulgence! Enjoy!

Rose fastened the nappy, adjusted the christening gown, and gave Amelia a quick peck on the cheek. The antique lace was as delicate as her wedding gown had been, and almost as long. It swallowed her ten-week-old daughter, as it had her son two years earlier.

Her daughter. The word still felt odd. Pink-faced, Amelia Elizabeth Sarah Foreman lay sleeping, unaware of the festivities planned for her christening. The Gallifreyan Princess blew tiny bubbles as she napped, and Rose bent to coo at her.

The palace clocks chimed two times, startling both mother and daughter. Rose cursed. Some things hadn’t changed, even after three years of palace life: Rose still cursed _and_ still ran late.

The residence doors clicked shut, and she headed down the hall, slowing when a dark shadow to the left caught her eye. Of course, he'd be there. Family events drew him back to the hall like a siren's call.

She slipped into the Portrait Gallery, putting her finger to her lips when Chris looked up. He smiled-- the one that still tugged at her heart--and met her in the middle of the long hall. First, he bent to kiss the forehead of their sleeping Princess, then pressed a deeper, lingering one on her lips.

“Hmm,” Rose hummed. “What was that for?”

“For the happiness you’ve given me,” he replied without hesitation.

“Stop it,” Rose said, eyes brimming with tears. “You know I’m still hormonal, and it doesn’t take much to make me a blubbering mess. What will our guests say?”

He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her as close as Amelia would allow. “They will say, how did Prince Christoph ever get so lucky?”

“They will also say, why is the Royal Family always late?” Jack quipped, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know the nanny will change a nappy for you, Highness.”

Chris led them past Jack, and Rose shook her head at the long-running debate. With two children under two, an extra set of hands was a godsend. But on days like today, Rose wanted her baby girl all to herself.

The trio descended the stairs, and Jack led them into the east room. Morning light spilled through the windows, brightening the ivory paneling and soft carpets. Chris had overwhelmingly agreed with her suggestion to transform the room from a den of tragedy to the children’s playroom. Gone were the dark leather library and antique guns, replaced with a rocking horse, oversized plush animals, and stacks of board books. The Royal Family ate lunch there most days, and Rose loved watching her son play against the backdrop of the gorgeous palace grounds just a pane of glass away.

This afternoon, the sun sparkled, but Gallifrey remained locked in winter’s grip, the spring thaw delayed. Rose sat and repositioned Amelia so the gown wasn’t smothering her.

“Where’s Peter?” she asked, expecting to find her son in the playroom. It seemed like only yesterday they were in this exact position, waiting to christen him Peter Wilfred Thomas Foreman. Ever since he arrived, time had sped up, flying by at an alarming rate. Rose wanted to freeze every precious moment with her children. Bottle them to sit on her shelf.

“Nanny took him for a walk to work his loopies out,” Chris replied.

“In the snow? He’ll be back before we leave, right?”

Chris squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, love. We won’t leave for the church without him.”

Jack clapped his hands. “Let’s go over the logistics again. The godparents will ride in the car with you three. Nanny, Prince Peter, and Grandma Jacqueline will follow --”

Rose interrupted. “Jackie, just Jackie if you value your life, and I still don’t understand why Peter can’t ride with us?”

“Not enough room in the car, love,” Chris squeezed again.

Rose hated these formal events, fretted over the details, and Chris talked her through them every time.

“Besides, Peter loves Jackie. God help him,” he muttered.

Rose smirked and nodded. “Go on, Jack, I’m sorry.”

“Not a problem, Highness. Guests arrive via the main vestibule, while you will be escorted to the back entrance. The ceremony will be thirty minutes with press photos taken on the church steps right afterward. Then it’s back to the palace for cake before the Princess wakes up.”

The door opened, and Wilfred stepped in, dressed in a black suit and tie. “Highnesses, it is time.”

Chris rolled his eyes as he offered Rose his hand. “Wilfred, we’ve talked about this. You’ve been family for over a year now, could you please call us by our given names?”

“Of course, _Christoph_ ,” Wilfred said. It looked painful to wrap his lips around the words. He had accepted his role as Prince Peter’s godfather with humility and honor. Adopting less formal greetings was proving more difficult.

Rose chuckled as she stepped into the foyer. Donna waited by the door looking lovely in a dark blue suit and hat. She kissed Rose and brushed a fingertip across the Princess’ cheek.

“She’s a darling, isn’t she?” she cooed. “Should I be signing up for the Gallifreyan Air Frequent Flyer program? First the wedding, then Peter’s christening, now Amelia’s.” She eyed the two of them. “You two don’t waste any time.”

Rose laughed, a bit of tension melting away. Choosing Donna as Amelia’s godmother was a stroke of brilliance, guaranteeing her daughter a formidable forever ally -- and a good laugh. With that in mind, she grinned on the way to the car, eavesdropping as Donna questioned Jack why the godmother job didn’t come with a wand. 

The sun was warm, and Rose leaned into it, enjoying how the rays bathed her sleeping daughter’s face in soft pink light. She took a deep breath and smiled.

~*~O~*~

The ceremony was a blur of feathered hats, holy water, and Amelia’s cries. His daughter’s distress as the chilly baptismal water hit her brow cut straight to Chris’ heart. How would he survive her first skinned knee, lost tooth, or-- blimey-- lost love. Panic at each imagined heartbreak clutched at him until Rose squeezed his hand, and they popped like soap bubbles.

_God, he loved this woman._

Most of the guests left the church before them, heading back to the palace for the reception. Chris exited to a crowd of press photographers, cameras at the ready.

“DaDah!” Peter yelled and squiggled out of his nanny’s arms.

Thirty minutes of standing quietly next to Nanny and Jackie had been enough. On eighteen-month-old legs, made even less steady by the melting snow pack, the little prince launched himself toward his father. Dozens of cameras clicked as Chris bent low and scooped the tow-headed boy up in his arms. Protocol be damned, Chris would hug his children and kiss his wife in public. Peter’s wide brown eyes-- Rose’s eyes--gazed at him with such adoration, Chris almost swayed.

Finding out Rose was pregnant so soon after the wedding had been thrilling and terrifying. Losing his father so young had left him ill-prepared for the role, an insecurity that hadn't subsided with the birth of Amelia. But, he wouldn’t trade one bit of it for the world. Shifting his son to his hip, he put his arm around Rose and smiled at the camera. 

By the time they finished the photos and returned to the palace, the reception was well underway. With only friends and family present, they had served refreshments in the less formal front parlors. Rose returned from changing Amelia into something less constricting, and Chris watched as she circulated the room, admiring not only her form but the transformation. With just a few instructions on formal protocol from Reinette, Rose had stepped into the role of Princess Consort and made it her own.

To be honest, the entire palace reflected her influence; there wasn’t a single room she hadn’t made better. A few months after walking across WCU’s stage and accepting her first in art, Rose had walked into the palace, a woman on a mission. Whether she admitted it or not, she had an artistic flair in everything she touched. Airy, satin drapes replaced the heavy, brocade window treatments in the ballroom. Light bathed the parquet floors revealing an intricate inlay design on the Gallifreyan seal that the darkness had kept hidden. Bedrooms lost their large, gilded furniture for sleek pieces carved by local Gallifreyan artisans.

His wife--those two words still honey on his lips--managed the palace restoration. She replaced the damaged art with new works from the Foreman's vast art archives. Under Saxon, the palace had darkened and withered. With Rose’s tender touch, it blossomed again, open to local artists, musicians, and school children.

The only room he made off-limits to her was the Portrait Gallery, saving that for a secret project. He still remembered how her eyes glittered as she reached out to touch her own artwork, matted and framed on the gallery walls. But the surprise hadn’t ended there. On the opposite wall, hanging next to his parents’ formal portrait was a bigger one. A talented Gallifreyan artist had recreated one of Chris' favorite photos of Rose and him, captured by Mrs. Jones in London. Heads bent toward each other pulled by an invisible string, they faced the camera, smiles wide and full of love. An early wedding present, he had whispered in her ear, brushing a tear from her cheek, worrying all the while it may have been too much.

Oh, how wrong he had been. He was fairly certain they conceived Peter that very night.

And now, here they were. Parents of two, managing an entire country. Oh, things weren’t perfect. There was unemployment, border issues, and the ever-burgeoning threat of terrorism. He wouldn't have traded one day.

“Where were you off to, Spaceman?” Donna edged up to his side, nudging him from his musings and offering him a glass of punch.

“Just appreciating what I have,” he admitted. He nodded towards Lee chasing two ginger toddlers around the table. “You going to help your husband wrangle those twins of yours?”

Donna took a sip of punch and didn’t move. “All three of them need the exercise, and I need the rest.” Chris chuckled; he understood that concept. There were nights he and Rose barely made it off the couch, drunk with happy exhaustion.

“Hello, Godfather.” Donna greeted Jack who approached hand-in-hand with Ianto Jones.

Jack bowed, then tucked Ianto’s arm into the crook of his own. “We came over to tell you we’re leaving. Fantastic party. The highlight was the fabulous job the godparents did, of course. But Ianto and I are off to spend some time together before he heads back to London.” Switching to Captain-of-the-Guard mode, Jack threw his shoulders back and addressed Chris. “I’ve left Gwen in charge of security, so all is taken care of.”

“Go,” Chris nodded at the door. “You’ve earned it. Just say goodbye to Rose. She’s been a nervous wreck all day.”

“I have not!”

He shot a dirty look at Jack for not warning him she was there. “In a good way, love,” he said, swooping in and kissing her forehead.

“You’re forgiven,” Rose said and gave him that tongue-touched smile that weakened his knees.

Harriet Jones wandered up to the group holding a pastry. She had a strange expression on her face.

“Is everything alright, Mrs. Jones?” Chris asked.

“Hmm? Oh, I was trying to tease out what’s different about these banana muffins. They don’t taste quite like mine.”

“See!” Chris said. “I’ve been telling Rose that for months now, but she swears we passed on your recipe to the palace cook.”

“Well, show me the way to her, and I'll set things straight!”

“Him,” Rose corrected. “The palace cook is a man.”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Well, that explains everything. All the more reason for the two of us to have a chat. Where's the kitchen at?”

Jack laughed. “Mrs. Jones, allow Ianto and me to escort you there, I’m afraid you might never find your way out of the palace if we let you loose.”

Chris turned to Rose. “Speaking of wandering off, where’s your mother?”

Rose nudged him. “I left her upstairs with Nanny and two sleepy children. But, we should take over for her. How do we end these things, again?

“Usually we slip away, but since everyone here is friends and family…”

“Precisely because it _is_ friends and family you _can_ slip away,” Donna said. “Go, no one deserves a break more than you two. We will see you at breakfast.”

Rose kissed Donna’s cheek, and Chris nodded at his best friend, before grabbing his wife's hand. He resisted the urge to squeeze it and yell, _Run_ before someone made another request. She rested her head on his arm as they walked up the stairs. The residence was quiet when they arrived. Jackie had retired to her rooms, the nanny told them before she bade them goodnight.

Chris tugged Rose beside him on the couch, and she kicked her shoes off and snuggled up against him. A blessed silence blanketed the room interrupted by the crackling fire and ticking mantel clock. He stroked her neck, enjoying the peace.

They both heard the door creak open, and Rose peeked up at him, raising an eyebrow. The little prince wasn’t one-hundred percent onboard with his new big bed. Padding feet followed the door opening wide.

“Ma-ma?” Peter whispered, and without a word, Rose lifted the blanket for him to join them on the couch.

Amelia’s soft cry came next. Rose's breath blew Peter's soft bangs off his brow, and Chris carefully untangled himself from the sleeping pair to rescue his princess. Back with her tucked on his shoulder, he slid into the warm pile of feet and elbows. Laying her on his chest, he hummed a Gallifreyan tune that his mother had sung to him, and the royal family fell asleep.


End file.
